


Body Work

by fridaysblues (taemin)



Series: Body Work / Performing Arts AU [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Conservatory, Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Music School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Injury Recovery, Light Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-30 22:49:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3954790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taemin/pseuds/fridaysblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So if someone told you to quit, it'd be easy for you to find something else?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Relentless,_ Jongin thinks. _The world is relentless._

He hooks his knee behind him, turns a neat pirouette, and finds himself face-to-face with his reflection across the dim room. He never bothers to turn on the light when he's here practicing by himself after-hours. He prefers the gloaming, stepping around the long shadows cast by his movements, the intimacy of listening to music through a pair of earbuds instead of the stereo in the corner of the room. He rolls his shoulders and tries to shake the tension from his body. He's practicing too hard again, but everything's heavier and takes more effort than it used to. He used to be lithe and graceful once. He used to be proud of the cracking joints and the tape securing his ankles. Now he just feels prematurely old. Broken, frail.

_"You need to start taking auditions."_

He's still thinking about what Professor Uhm had said to him earlier that morning when he sauntered into warmups, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his hood pulled up over his eyes to camouflage the hangover he hadn't yet managed to shake. _"It's the start of your second year and you're exactly where you were this time last year. You've got to start getting a feel for what it's like out there in the professional world. Do a summer intensive or a musical or something, anything. What's your plan, Jongin? What's next?"_ Jongin closes his eyes and sees Uhm's frown clearly, like he's standing right in front of him now. The disappointment that kept him pinned to the spot where he stood. The way Uhm's voice had changed, lowered although he'd chosen to talk to Jongin in the studio, in front of everyone. _"Let me help you. Talk to me about your goals and we'll get you there. You've got the talent, Jongin. I'm just concerned about your motivation these days."_

 _Motivation._ Jongin scoffs and rolls his hips into a backslide across a wooden floor, watching himself in the mirror for technique. He's been able to do this particular move since he was six years old and saw Michael Jackson moonwalking across the flickering screen of his parents' television. He practiced for weeks, tripping over himself and falling flat on his face when he tried to punctuate the move by balancing up on his toes. But it came to him, eventually. And then everything else followed.

He'd been motivated to achieve something then. He hadn't been dancing _because they'll take away my scholarship if I don't,_ but because he wanted his body to be weightless. Fluid, graceful. He wanted to be onstage. After endless weeks of pestering her, his mother agreed to dance lessons as long as he promised to attend them faithfully and _try_ ballet as well because it was always what she'd wanted to do when she was his age. He loved all of it, spent all his free time watching classes and practicing until he could pop and lock but also _pas de bourrée_ and _jeté_ and catwalk and layout and of course the moonwalk, which he busted out in the living room every chance he got until his father threw a book at him and demanded to know when he was going to start taking his studies as seriously as _all of this moronic prancing._

 _"I'm going to dance professionally,"_ he'd declared, dodging the second book.

But now…

_I just need some time to figure it out._

 

In retrospect, he hadn't gotten off to a good start in the performing arts department last year. Swaggering with false bravado across campus, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, barely acknowledging the seniors in the department who'd been there a year, two years, three years before he arrived. He didn't have time for that. He'd been _scouted_ , hand-picked by Professor Uhm; he'd been talked up, his reputation as an incredibly proficient dancer established before he'd even moved into the dormitory. The resentment of being overshadowed by a first-year, coupled with the irritating way he strutted into movement class with moments to spare and managed to avoid being chastised seemed to fuel the vicious gossip. Everyone whispered about Kim Jongin, not even bothering to lower their voices as he walked by: _"Sure, the freshman's good but he could be better,"_ and _I heard he blows the professor after class. That's why he's always getting the attention,"_ and other spiteful things that his roommate, Oh Sehun (also majoring in dance), related to him over their meals in the dining hall in between mouthfuls of steamed vegetables, eyes looking past Jongin's crestfallen face to the chocolate cupcakes heaped on the forbidden dessert table.

"I'm only telling you so you know," Sehun said, strands of his bleached-blond hair falling into his dark eyes. "I don't think your ego's any worse than theirs. And you'd never blow Professor Uhm. I've seen the guys you've brought home – he's not your type."

Jongin snorted and flicked a grain of rice across the table. "I hope you told them that."

"Of course not. I told them it was the other way around. Uhm's been blowing you."

He'd dumped the entire bowl of rice in Sehun's lap at that point and stalked out of the dining hall, thoroughly peeved. It took Sehun a week of cajoling and swearing up and down that he was _just joking_ before Jongin dropped the silent treatment.

He'd never caved to pressure before, but the incessant criticism wore him down – every day, snide comments on trivial things like the way he stared at himself in the mirror ( _"What a narcissist!"_ ) or the way he stayed late to practice things he'd already been praised for during class.

He'd never admit it out loud, but it hurt.

So he'd backed off a little.

Looking back, this had been the start of the worst of it—the biggest mistake he could have possibly made. Instead of working harder, daring the upperclassmen to challenge his work ethic and his talent, shaming them into silence with success and achievement, he stopped trying to impress everyone. He slunk to the back of room during group rehearsals, hiding behind Sehun so neatly that he barely caught sight of his reflection in the mirror anymore. He stopped coming in early, stopped staying late.

Predictably, they continued to talk about him. _"I guess he's not as good as they thought he was,"_ and _"I knew he'd crush himself under the weight of his giant head,"_ and _"Amazing—he's burned out faster than I expected. Who do I owe money to?"_

He heard it all, even over the volume of his headphones.

Uhm was concerned enough to say something. He pulled him aside, crossing his arms across his chest as he inclined his body forward. "You okay? Getting enough sleep?"

"Homework for my general studies classes. I've got a lot of papers," he fibbed.

"Get it together," Uhm commanded, frowning. "Get a tutor if you have to. You're here to dance."

He _really_ fucked it up when he skipped out on the summer workshop season to lie on the couch in the off-campus apartment he'd moved into with Sehun. Sehun was gone, an extra in a production of _West Side Story_ running in Busan for six whole weeks. He kept promising to drive down and catch a matinee but he never did. Instead, he spent most of his time wandering around the campus (a veritable ghost town when classes weren't in session) and improvising routines to the music on his mp3 player on the playground of the local daycare.

Sehun returned in late August, his body the fittest it had ever been, and was astonished that Jongin hadn't once bothered to step foot inside the studio or the conditioning room.

"How the hell are you going to keep up?"

"I'll manage."

And he did. Barely, but he did.

 

To add to his frustrations, as if by magic, the seniors' animosity towards him completely vanished when school resumed in the fall. They'd moved on and found a new focus for their dissatisfaction. Most people ignored him outright, except for Sehun and Taemin. Everyone else had forgotten that Jongin was supposed to be a target; then again, they'd also forgotten he was supposed to be very, very good. Nobody expected anything from him, and so he stopped expecting anything from himself, too.

It was only recently he'd started these late night practice sessions in a desperate attempt to get the fire back. He's got no idea how he's supposed to go about doing that when he can't stop thinking about how much time he wasted last year and how he's so far behind from where he should be. It's embarrassing to be seen floundering like this, body unsteady, muscles distrustful. He's gone from being a natural-born performer to something else, something unrecognizable—a shadowy figure in the back of the room, entirely forgettable, posture lax, shoulders rounded with apprehension, unable to shake the voices in his head. He feels like a failure, angry that he'd let them undermine his resolve, and maybe more than a little lost, wondering if he'd ever really wanted it if he'd allowed it to be pried from his fingers so easily.

He doubts himself. He doubts his decision to pursue dance. He doubts everything.

A lot.

♫♫♫

He cuts through the music building on his way back home from his midnight practice. This has become a habit for him recently, mostly for safety (they've had a rash of muggings recently on the block between the dance school and the bus stop), but also for curiosity's sake. He's never had any particular reason to visit the music building before. He hasn't taken any music classes, and doesn't know any of the music majors outside of the few miserable accompanying students who drop by the dance studio occasionally to sight-read their way through a class. He'd never really gotten to know them, as they came on a rotating basis, and he rarely saw the same face more than a handful of times.

The building that houses the dance department had been renovated shortly before he'd enrolled—a detail that factored into his decision when he was applying for schools. He fell in love with the stark, white practice studios, the brand new sprung maple floors and the glass foyer that faces west and glows with hues of red and gold when the sun sets each evening. The sleek modernness of it all made him feel very grown up. Professional. _"My studio's going to look like that someday,"_ he'd told his mother when his acceptance letter arrived. _"I'm going to dance in a place like that every day for the rest of my life."_

The music building, on the other hand, is an ancient relic, unchanged by the passage of time. It looks like it hasn't changed much since its construction in the mid-seventies: brick façade, the hallways lined with wood paneling, dated accents of ugly grown and burnt orange and avocado green _everywhere_. 

That first time he'd taken this particular shortcut, Jongin walked straight through the corridors—in through the back door and out the front door, taking stock of his surroundings without much investigation. He'd paused briefly at the display case to read the programs for upcoming recitals and hadn't recognized any names, not that he'd really expected to. Emboldened by this, the next night he'd taken his time to explore and found his own cozy corners of the building. The lobby at the south end of the building housed a few sagging chairs slowly buckling under the abuse of countless bodies over the years. 

It seems weird to loiter in a place which he'd never really had any business to go before, but he knows Sehun's up and waiting for him to come home from his late-night practices. He's always there, sitting on the living room floor doing stretches and watching tv, wanting to talk about upcoming auditions and routines and all of the stuff that's been causing Jongin headaches without Sehun's enthusiasm adding to the mix to make him feel worse.

Sehun routinely wakes up at the break of dawn to go running, though, so he doesn't usually manage to stay awake much past midnight. Jongin's prepared to wait it out for another half an hour before hopping the bus back to their apartment across town. He'll shake Sehun awake and usher him from the couch to his bedroom and the conversation'll be postponed for yet another evening. Easy enough.

Tonight, instead of proceeding directly to the exit on the other side of the building, Jongin takes a detour to the stairwell and climbs the stairs to the third floor. Last week, he'd discovered a makeshift lounge on the third floor with a ratty, overstuffed couch that had proved itself to be the perfect venue for a nap. He sets the alarm on his phone for half an hour and pulls his hood up over his face to hide from any potential passersby who might want to ask him who he is and what he's doing in the building. 

He dozes. He'd barely drifted off when something wakes him. He sits up, disoriented. He's napped here every night this week and he's never encountered a soul or heard a thing, not on the third floor. It's mostly offices up here with maybe a few practice rooms in the inner corridors. Everything's always locked up tight with the lights off by the time he arrives.

He listens raptly for a moment. The building is perfectly still, deserted. Except—

Piano music, drifting from somewhere deep within the labyrinth of third floor practice rooms. The piano's not particularly in tune. Jongin freezes for a moment, and finds himself humming along. He knows the piece, vaguely, enough that he knows how it goes, but he can't put his finger on what it's called.

And then, just as suddenly, it stops.

He lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

♫♫♫

He hears it again the next night as he slips in through the double doors on the south side of the building. It's coming from the recital hall this time but he recognizes it again, the same song, nagging at his subconscious. _I know this one._ It had been driving him crazy all day, humming the few bars he remembered over and over to himself, trying to jog his memory, unlock something he's long-since forgotten. The recital hall's piano is more in tune, and at full-stick, so the sound is rich and full as it booms through the hallways, despite the heavy wooden doors.

Jongin stands outside the doors for a full five minutes, debating back and forth on whether he should investigate, to satisfy his curiosity. He's really not supposed to be there. It could be anyone—an angry graduate student, a professor. Maybe the janitor's secretly a Juilliard dropout who practices late at night when nobody's around to hear him. _I'm being pretty fucking intrusive,_ Jongin thinks. _I'd have to have someone walk in on me when_ I'm _practicing._.

Curiosity finally wins out. _I was supposed to meet a friend here but I heard you playing,_ he rehearses in his head, running a hand through his hair and practicing his best innocent face. _I just wanted to know what you were playing._

He hadn't anticipated the possibility of the doors having creaky hinges. _Fuck,_ he thinks as the earsplitting squawk rings out through the entire theatre. He shrinks back against the door frame, wondering if he closes his eyes tightly enough he'll just disappear completely and wake up back in his apartment, Sehun chattering away about taking an audition for the Seoul Ballet Theatre together.

The music stops and the pianist looks up, startled. "Who's there? Chanyeol?"

It's dark on stage, save for the ghost light tucked up against the proscenium. Jongin can barely make out the outline of a pair of broad shoulders straightening up to peer into the empty audience. 

After a beat, he locates his voice. "No, I'm—I'm sorry. I was just listening."

"Nobody's supposed to be here this late."

"That piece. You've been playing it all week."

The young man shifts noisily on the piano bench, uncomfortable with the knowledge that he hadn't been alone. "Oblivion. One of the more Piazzolla works. Originally for bandoneon, but I forgot mine at home."

The sarcasm's unexpected, but not entirely unfriendly. He delivers it with a small smile, and Jongin returns it, walking down the aisle towards the stage to get a closer look. Of course. He remembers the whole piece now. He'd been sixteen at the time, studying ballroom dance for the hell of it because he'd been watching a class and thought it looked like fun. He'd run through the gamut of dance styles this way—they'd all looked like fun, once.

"A tango. Yeah. I've danced to that one."

The pianist accepts this without comment, although it's a strange thing to say outside of the context of the dance studio. 

"I'm Kim Jongin," he offers finally, shoving his fists into the pockets of his sweatpants. The pianist hasn't given any indication that he's interested in the information but he's still looking at Jongin and Jongin doesn't really know what else to say. He needs to fill the silence with something, so he's just babbling. "I'm—I'm not a music major. I'm in the dance studio. Second year."

"What's a dance major doing in the music building after midnight? What's a dance major doing in here at all?"

His eyes finally adjusted to the light, Jongin studies the pianist. Floppy, dark hair, desperately in need of cutting, curling around his ears and the nape of his neck. Lanky but compact, a foot tapping impatiently against the pedals as he stares down at Jongin. He's handsome, his brown eyes warm and placid despite the deadpan expression of a person who's doing his best to be patient. 

Jongin feels his face go warm under his even gaze and isn't sure if it's out of embarrassment or because he can't help but notice the way the pianist's tongue lazily traces his bottom lip as he considers what Jongin's saying.

He blusters past the question to ask one of his own. "Do you play for the dance studio at all?"

"No. I'm not an accompanist. I'm here for performance." He puts his hands back in his lap and Jongin catches a tiny grimace flitting across his expression before it settles again.

"Are you okay?"

The pianist wrinkles his nose. "Besides the fact that you're interrupting my practice time? Yes."

Jongin feels very stupid. He doesn't even know this guy, and here he is—"No. I mean—I—I don't know, never mind. I'm sorry for bothering you. It sounded great." He turns to leave. The pianist's voice follows him.

"Jongin?"

"Yes?"

"It doesn't sound great. Don't come tomorrow."

♫♫♫

Jongin goes anyway. He manages to be quieter this time, sneaking into the recital hall through the side audience door and tucking himself carefully into the back row of seats. It's the same piece as before— _Oblivion_ —the strains curling through the darkness, winding past the pianist's hunched body as he reaches, fingers splayed, coaxing notes from the old Steinway with such tenderness that it roots Jongin to his chair, transfixed. The studio accompanists never play with this much reverence for the music.

The pianist hits a tone cluster and pauses, frozen as the chord dissipates, the overtones ringing into the thick silence of the darkened hall. Jongin's breath catches behind his teeth, every atom of his body resonating at the same frequency.

"I know you're here," the pianist says finally, sliding his fingers off the keys into his lap. "I thought I told you not to come back."

Jongin closes his eyes. _Shit._

"You're not all that light on your feet for a dancer. You scuff your shoes. Are they even on properly? And you chose the seat in the back row. Ten in, am I right? Just off-center." He squints up into the darkness, shading his eyes.

Jongin scoffs in disbelief. "You can see me?"

"I know this place like the back of my hand. Everybody chooses that seat, anyway. It's got the best acoustics."

"You've tried all of them?"

"Come down here. It's weird talking to a disembodied voice," he commands, swiveling around to slip his feet back on the pedals. "If you're going to insist on listening, then listen. Don't be creepy and lurk in the shadows."

Jongin rises to his feet sheepishly. "Sorry."

"You're not all that sorry, or you wouldn't have come back," the pianist says, although there's not any venom behind it. "What was it again? Jongin?"

"Yeah."

"I'm Baekhyun, by the way. Byun Baekhyun. Fourth year." He watches for a moment with an expression not entirely unlike derision as Jongin wriggles his way into a front row seat on his knees, tucking his feet underneath him like a small child. "You're really a dancer?"

Jongin speaks before he can stop himself. "I guess."

"You guess? What happened?"

 _I don't know._ He doesn't know why he wants to say it to this complete stranger of all people, but he desperately wants to admit it out loud to someone for the first time. "I dance," he clarifies, hedging. "I'm majoring in dance."

"You don't sound excited about that."

"I'm going through a slump, I guess? I'm not really motivated or inspired by it right now. I don't know why. It used to be fun." He doesn't make eye contact with Baekhyun after the words leave his mouth. His cheeks burn hot with shame now that he's finally confessed his problem to someone.

Baekhyun clears his throat. "I don't play too much anymore unless I sneak in here at night."

"Why?"

"I'm not supposed to play as much as I used to anymore, at least until I get better. Tendonitis," he explains, pointing at a set of discarded wrist braces at the foot of the piano bench. "I'm supposed to rest. I don't want to, though. I miss it too much."

"Aren't you risking permanent damage that way?" Jongin frowns. Tendonitis is serious—it could mean the death of your career if you didn't take care of it. Dancers were always being warned to stay limber and get plenty of rest to avoid exactly that sort of thing. He'd nearly gone through a bout of it himself, right around the same time he'd started to go through puberty. A growth spurt had added centimeters in a matter of months and his knees started to burn every time he stepped onto the floor. He'd been forced to take it easy—lots of stretching and swimming and absolutely nothing that required extensive floor work until his body eased into its new limits. 

Baekhyun shrugs. "Like you, there are some things I can't explain. I haven't touched this piece since my freshman year, but here I am working on it anyway. I've felt the need to play it every night lately." He makes a face, clearly disgusted with himself as he says, "It's what my hands want to do."

"Oblivion."

"Kind of appropriate, don't you think?"

Jongin puts a foot on the floor and rolls stiffness out of an ankle. "I suppose."

"Why do you go practice so late if you're just going to quit? Why even bother wasting your time"

It's the first time anyone'd said that word to Jongin. _Quit._ It sounds so harsh, so final. He flinches with the panic he hadn't realized he'd been suppressing. 

"I can't quit," he says softly. "There isn't anything else."

Baekhyun sits back on the piano bench. He's smiling again, gently. "Seems like you're stuck. What are you going to do, then?"

"Figure out what's going on and fix it. It's just a slump," Jongin repeats, hoping he sounds convincing enough.

"Mmm." Baekhyun clearly sees right through him. He doesn't push it though. Instead, he reaches down to the floor and retrieves his wrist braces.

"What are you doing?"

"Packing up to go home."

"You're not done."

Exasperated, Baekhyun glances at the time on his phone and waves the display at Jongin for proof. "I'm done. It's past one o'clock."

"You stopped right at the best part. You have to finish it."

"Do I need to? Does it annoy you that much?" He smirks playfully, running his fingers across the white keys in a C scale that peters out on the seventh.

Jongin sucks in a deep breath, leans forward, and confidently hits the octave with his index finger. A small dimple forms in Baekhyun's cheek as he fights the smile.

"So you're a little neurotic, huh? Fine." He turns back to the keyboard and tips his chin thoughtfully, trying to recall which chord he'd left off with. Jongin's body knows exactly where, but he's got no way of communicating that without sounding insane, so he sits back and pictures it instead. His mind, ever the saboteur, fills in Baekhyun's face where his partner's had always been before.

Shaking his head, he returns his focus to Baekhyun, who's still contemplating where to begin. His hands, poised above the keys and ready to continue, begin to tremble violently without the firm support of his thighs to steady them.

Jongin leans forward. "Are you okay?"

"Why do you keep asking me that? No. I'm fucking not okay," Baekhyun growls, smashing his fists against the keys in a burst of atonal frustration. "I'm losing the ability to hold onto shit. Like pencils. And chopsticks. How the fuck a I supposed to keep playing the piano?" He pushes the bench back away from the keyboard, angry. "But unless you're a doctor or a chiropractor or you've got cortisone stashed somewhere that you're willing to give me, what the fuck can you do?"

Jongin reaches out. his body reacting before his brain has time to catch up. "Here. Let me see."

Baekhyun looks at him dubiously. "See what?"

"Your hands."

"I guess." He looks away even as he thrusts them out in front of him. "Nothing you can do that hasn't already been done."

Baekhyun's hands are long, artful and slender. Pianist's hands. Jongin pushes down the awkward fluttering in the pit of his stomach and rests their palms together, feeling the dry warmth of Baekhyun's hand next to his own sweaty skin and raises his eyebrows. Baekhyun's too warm, almost uncomfortably so, as if he'd been holding his hands against a radiator for the past ten minutes.

"Jesus. Do you feel that?"

Baekhyun flexes his hands but doesn't pull out of Jongin's grip. "Feel what?"

"That heat."

Baekhyun gives him a hard look out of the corner of his eye. "Don't be weird."

Jongin ignores him, probing at the soft inner part of Baekhyun's wrist with gentle fingers. "Here. It's the worst right here." The flicker of pain on Baekhyun's face confirms it even before he nods.

"How can you tell?"

"It's red-hot. you've got a lot of inflammation here. You should ice this."

"Thanks, doc," Baekhyun says drily.

"I'm a dancer. We deal with this stuff all the time. You pick up some things." Jongin grips against the pliable webbing between Baekhyun's finger and thumb and squeezes hard for a moment. "Like this. Pressure points are fun."

"This isn't going to make me pass out, is it?"

"No." Jongin finally lets Baekhyun's hands go, fingertips still radiating warmth from Baekhyun's skin. "Why, do you want me to show you that one next?"

Baekhyun grins, flexing his fingers, and then gasps. "Shit. What _was_ that? That feels amazing. You'll have to teach me that one." He turns back and plays through a few bars of _Oblivion_. Jongin notices the difference in fluidity already. It sounds easier, less beleaguered. Less painful.

"It's—It's not a permanent thing. Ice and rest really are the best things for it," he cautions. "And the braces."

Baekhyun waves him off. "I'm okay."

Jongin smiles wryly. Baekhyun's dedication reminds him a lot of the person he used to be once upon a time. "Just be careful. Don't overdo it."

 

He puzzles over it later, hands clasped around a paper cup of coffee at the 24-hour cafe below his apartment. He hadn't felt much like going to bed after he left the music building, so he'd settled for a corner booth and the occasional smile from the older woman who was cleaning the tables with enough vigor to strip the finish. 

His conversation with Baekhyun still has him thinking: where did the ambition go? It was clearly somewhere. It wasn't gone yet. Something's pushing him to keep practicing every night, even if he's not exactly sure what he's doing it for yet. He just has to trust his body and put it on autopilot for a little while until he figures out which direction he wants to go.

And as for Baekhyun, well—

 

_"Give me your number. You can show me more of this stuff."_

_"I can just meet you back here tomorrow night."_

_"Clandestine midnight trysts? What are you, a sixteen year old girl? During the day. Tomorrow."_

_"Tomorrow?"_

_"Why? Do you already have plans for lunch?"_

_"No."_

_"Now you do."_

 

He likes him.

And not just because he's got a nice face, but the way he plays, the way he makes music and pushes himself past the point of physical pain because he can't distance himself from his instrument—it's fascinating. _Attractive._ Something to aspire to.

He finishes off the rest of his coffee and traipses upstairs, past Sehun who, true to form, is fast asleep against the arm of the sofa, and flops in bed, where he slumps against the pillows and scrolls past Baekhyun's name on his contact list a thousand times. Sleep's not coming for a while yet—especially not after the large coffee—but he feels buoyed somehow anyway, lighter than he's been in months.

♫♫♫


	2. Chapter 2

♫♫♫

Despite the fact that he'd only managed to get three hours of sleep that night before being shaken awake by a frantic Sehun ( _"Your alarm's been going off, didn't you hear it?"_ ), Jongin works harder in studio the next day than he has in quite some time. Embarrassingly, it seems as though everyone's gotten used to the minimal effort he's been putting forth with his dancing lately because he executes a difficult combination perfectly on the first try and is rewarded with a smattering of enthusiastic applause.

Sehun elbows him in the ribs as he retreats to his place back against the wall. "I thought you were lying when you said you'd been out practicing," Sehun hisses out of the corner of his mouth. Jongin shrugs, looking straight ahead in an attempt to ignore Sehun.

"Jongin, I don't know what's gotten into you today, but keep it up," Professor Uhm says after class, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Can we talk for a minute in my office? Won't take long." 

The bottom drops right out of Jongin's stomach. He knows what this conversation's going to be—a continuation of the one they'd started yesterday, and he still doesn't know what to tell Professor Uhm, other than the motivation during today's class comes from staying up late last night to watch a brown-eyed boy wreck himself in order to make beautiful music and he finds it kind of inspiring. It still does, even in the light of day. He catches himself thinking about Baekhyun and has to put his hand over his mouth to stop the smile from coming through.

Still, he obliges. Sehun trails behind to linger outside of the office, pretending to be fascinated by a flyer pinned up on the notice board. Jongin shoots him an annoyed look over his shoulder as Professor Uhm ushers him inside and shuts the door.

"So. What's up?" Jongin asks casually, sinking down into the cracked red leather sofa up against the far wall of the office. He'd laughed the first time he came inside and saw it: a preposterous relic from a bygone era, probably salvaged from the old dance department's furnishings before the renovation. It should have been thrown out along with everything else—besides the obvious wear, it's _ugly_ and dated. It'd probably look at home in the music building. It doesn't quite match the rest of the sleek lines of the modernized dance building—but Professor Uhm seems to love it, and so it remains.

"You did really well today," Uhm says, settling into his desk chair and leaning back until he's clear to prop his feet up on the corner of his desk. "Reminded me of your freshman year when you came in here, guns blazing, talking about taking over the world."

"Thank you."

"You still could, you know. If you started giving a shit again."

 _Here it comes_ , Jongin thinks, wilting a little as the smile fades from his face.

"Have you given any more thought to some auditions you'd like to take? Is there anything I can help you get ready for?"

Jongin sighs. "I don't know. Not yet."

"What don't you know?"

Jongin looks down at his hands, lower lip tucked between his teeth as Professor Uhm flips through some papers on his desk and tucks them into a folder. Minutes tick by. Jongin wants to look at the clock but can't figure out a way to see it without completely turning his body and drawing attention to himself so he sat, rubbing his palms nervously against his thighs.

Finally, Uhm drops his papers on the desk and breaks the silence. "Why do you dance, Jongin?"

Jongin closes his eyes and draws a slow, deep breath, wishing to god that he could fast forward through this conversation so he can go take a shower and scream out his frustrations in peace.

"Because I love it," he says. He opens his eyes. Professor Uhm's studying him intently, his hands resting on the stack of papers he'd been shuffling earlier. 

"What do you love about it?"

Jongin thinks for a moment. "I like performing. I like feeling strong."

"You could do that in a circus. Why'd you choose to dance?"

Jongin takes another deep breath and tells Uhm everything, about Michael Jackson and dancing on his toes and dodging books heaved at him by his father and the way his neighborhood kids always tried to kick his ass when he'd walk home from ballet practice with his toes slung over one shoulder and how, later, he'd skipped school to take more classes or the summer he spent hanging out in the park watching the b-boys and begging them to teach him how to do that, too.

Uhm listens to this, nodding at all the right moments with a small smile on his face. He lets Jongin finish, though. "You're a dancer," he says when Jongin finally stops rambling. "That's why you dance."

 _Oh._ "Oh." _Fuck._ He'd made an ass of himself, spilling this stupid cheesy backstory when really, he was just supposed to reply with the obvious answer. _He's a dancer. Dancers dance._ He chuckles and scratches the back of his head sheepishly, a little confused and a lot embarrassed.

"So go dance, Jongin. Whatever happened between yesterday and today... I think you're heading in the right direction. If you need help figuring out what's next, I'm here for that. But there's not a lot I can do for you if you just drag yourself in here and half-ass everything. You're taking up a spot somebody else wanted."

Jongin nods, sufficiently cowed at this point. "I'm sorry, sir. I'll get it together."

"I want to see some audition applications from you on my desk by Monday." Uhm holds up the folder and waves it at Jongin. "Sehun's already given me half a dozen."

"Sehun's always been an overachiever."

"Maybe you should give over-achieving a try for a while. See where that gets you." He leans back in his chair again and it creaks ominously. "You're not spending the summer hanging around here again. That's not going to help you build your resumé."

"Yes sir."

"You can go now."

Sehun's waiting for Jongin in the hallway when he emerges, anxiously fiddling with his cellphone and pacing back and forth outside the office. He latches onto Jongin the minute the door closes.

"What did he want?"

Jongin shrugs. "To tell me I did a good job today, and then to tell me I need to get my shit together or get the fuck out. Basically."

"See, I kept telling you—"

"I know, I know." Jongin holds up his hand to cut Sehun off before he can finish what he's saying. He's heard enough of Sehun's admonishments. "I have to show him I'm going to take some auditions by Monday."

"You're going to have to spend all weekend in here making tapes."

"I know." He sighs, and a thought strikes him. "Hey. Where are you auditioning? Which clinics are you looking at? Anything I should be checking out?"

"Oh no. _No way_." Sehun turns on his heel and starts a hasty retreat to the locker room. "I spent hours looking for audition postings, and I actually want a shot at some of these."

"You were talking about taking auditions together last week." Jongin falls into step with Sehun, voice ratcheting a half step in a childish whine. "Why can't you help me? I need to get Uhm off my back."

"I said that when you were hacking your way through classes and looking like an amateur." Sehun rolls his eyes. "I take everything I said back. If you're taking it seriously again, I don't have a chance."

"You know you're going to end up helping me," Jongin coaxes, linking his arm with Sehun's. "You'd be too lonely in studio if I had to leave, not to mention you'd be responsible for my half of the rent."

Sehun considers this for a moment, lips drawn into a grimace that seems to signal his defeat. Jongin punches him in the arm.

"I knew it. Thank you."

"You're an ass. I didn't say I'd help you."

"I'll film the stuff by myself. Just point me in the right direction. That's all, I swear—" he broke off, noting the time on the hallway clock with wide eyes. "Shit. It's that late already? I'm not going to have a chance to shower."

Sehun stops in his tracks, immediately on high alert. "You _never_ take a shower here," he says accusingly.

"I do sometimes. Do I smell?" Jongin pulls the collar of his shirt away from him and sniffs. He really can't tell. The entire building perpetually smells of sweaty bodies, so much so that Jongin's become immune to it—maybe even likes it, just a little bit, because it's the smell he associates with hard work and accomplishment. "Is it bad? Can you tell?"

"Dude. I'm not going to smell you." Sehun backs away a few paces, hands clenched tightly around the strap of his bag. Jongin frowns and reached out to yank Sehun's elbow to stop him from leaving.

"Come on, seriously." 

"Just go shower if you're that worried about it," he says crossly, extricating his arm from Jongin's grasp.

"I'll be late if I do that."

Sehun regards him with outright suspicion. "Late for what? You don't have class right now. You're usually halfway back to the apartment right now to take a nap in front of the TV."

"I'm—just—meeting somebody," Jongin starts, unsure of how much he wants to divulge to Sehun right off the bat. Sehun has a tendency to be a busybody—a trait which usually works in Jongin's favor, since he's usually nosy enough about people in the studio, but not nosy enough to actually go to the source and find out for himself. His _own_ personal information is different, though, especially after being the focus of last year's studio gossip. He feels awkward when people in studio know things before he's had a chance to decide whether to reveal it himself or not; it was even worse when it's something he'd rather that nobody knew. He immediately thinks back to the time he'd come down with a particularly nasty rash on his lower back from working on the mats that had required twice-daily applications of ointment from Sehun, who was all-too willing to cover the spots Jongin's arms were too short to reach and then discuss it in great detail with anyone who'd listen during warm-ups the next morning. His stomach clenches in an involuntary reaction to the memory.

"Somebody?" Sehun prompts. "Is this somebody I know?"

"No."

Sehun considers this information, eyes scanning Jongin's face for any hint. "You're meeting somebody over the lunch hour and it's apparently important enough that you want to shower for it."

"I—"

His eyes narrow. "You've been holding out on me. You've got a date!"

Jongin's face colors. "It's _not_ a date."

"Hey, you're a grown-up, call it whatever you want, but I don't see you inviting me along with you, so… go shower, you smell like shit." Sehun turns to leave, tossing one of his mischievous grins over his shoulder as he goes. "If he really likes you, he won't mind waiting while you make yourself presentable."

♫♫♫

Jongin showers in record time. He's pleased that even half-asleep, he'd had the foresight that morning to tuck a spare shirt in his back as he rushed out the door with Sehun to catch the bus. It's hopelessly wrinkled but it's clean and doesn't smell like sweat, which is a vast improvement from what he'd been wearing before the shower.

All in all, by the time he arrives at the coffee shop where they'd agreed to meet, he's only running fifteen minutes late. His hair's still damp and plastered against his forehead, and before he goes inside he tries anxiously for the third time to smooth the wrinkles out of his shirt using the heat from his hand.

Baekhyun doesn't even look up as Jongin approaches the armchair he's settled in, his lower lip tucked in between his teeth. His eyes are riveted on a booklet of sheet music in his lap and he's got a mechanical pencil jiggling impatiently between his fingers. "Hey there, Baryshnikov," he greets Jongin eventually, his eyes still trained on the sheet music in front of him.

"Hi, Beethoven. Sorry I'm late."

This provokes enough of a reaction for Baekhyun to tear his eyes away from his work and look up at Jongin, grinning from ear to ear. "Really? Beethoven? That's all you've got?"

"You're lucky I've even got that."

Baekhyun laughs then, a sharp, throaty chuckle that burst out of his mouth. It's charming, maybe even a little infectious, Jongin thinks, as his lips twitch at the corners.

"What do they teach you over there? Looking at Yourself in the Mirror 101? A seminar on advanced stretching techniques? Judging by last night, they're not teaching you how to be light on your feet."

"Hey. I've done _Swan Lake_ ," Jongin says, a little defensively. "That should be right up your alley."

" _Swan Lake_ 's a horrible piece of music, you dilettante." Baekhyun looks back down at his homework and circles a measure twice. "But you know _Oblivion_ , so I guess I'll let it slide."

Jongin smirks. "Thanks."

"So, are you going to sit down? You're making me nervous hovering over me like that. Or is that a habit of yours? Hiding in the shadows, hovering…"

"I'm going to get a drink," Jongin says abruptly, deciding to ignore Baekhyun's dig at his uninvited presence during his practice sessions the past few nights. He couldn't have been that bothered if he'd asked Jongin to meet him there, and Jongin likes Baekhyun's easy sarcasm. "Do you want a refill on whatever that was?" He gestures at Baekhyun's empty mug.

"Sure, thank you," Baekhyun murmurs, surprising Jongin with how _shy_ he sounds in that moment. "Coffee. Black. Whatever's warm. Thank you."

Jongin returns with two brimming mugs and settles into the chair next to Baekhyun to watch him work. Baekhyun'd had the presence of mind to stake a claim on it through the strategic use of textbooks and an overstuffed shoulder bag which had started to fray under the strain of too many etude books crammed inside of it. Baekhyun continues to write steadily, occasionally sipping at the coffee Jongin brought him or snorting angrily through his nose as he erases huge swaths of analysis, leaving eraser dust all over his knees and the armchair and the floor below.

Jongin's been to this coffee shop a handful of times—usually on the way to studio, desperate for caffeine to quell the yawning fits that accompanied his late-night practices —but he doesn't usually stay longer than the time it takes to get his change and cram a lid on the top of his to-go cup. It's cozy and generically hip in the way that all college coffee shops seem to be: a lot of wood and mismatched tables, interesting art on the wall (most of it, he supposes, supplied by the students in the art department across campus), a smattering of artsy, writer types hunched over their laptops, probably banging out an assignment for the poetry class they're currently skipping. The barista is a stoic thirty-something who looked averse to formal education and personal hygiene but could probably bore you with any number of esoteric topics.

Baekhyun's roommate stops by at some point, incurring a furious stare from Baekhyun as he cranes his neck upwards at whoever's daring to interrupt him by mussing his hair. Jongin laughs into his hands, a mostly-silent observer as Baekhyun flings his pencil against his paper, swearing angrily. "What _now_ , asshole? Don't you have studio?"

Park Chanyeol is tall, well over six feet, with soft tawny hair he has knotted on top of his head to keep out of his face. He's wearing an oversized purple cardigan and a wide, easy grin that fills his face, nose crinkling slightly with curiosity as he glances over at Jongin. A pair of drumsticks protrude out of the backpack hanging off of his shoulder.

"I'm on my way. I came to grab your history notes. Hey—I forgot, did you sign up for the concerto competition?"

"Last week. Did you only just get around to it? Tomorrow's the last day."

"The sign-up sheet's on the third floor. Percussion practice rooms are in the basement. It's out of my way."

"Life's so hard for you."

"Seriously!"

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. "Why don't you just go to class?"

"The jazz studio was having a forum today. There's a visiting–"

"I really, really don't care," Baekhyun cuts him off, waving his hand towards his bag. "In there somewhere. The red notebook. Don't get food on it this time."

"I didn't get food on it last time."

"You fucking _liar,_ you left fingerprints all over the place. Which, by the way, brings me to my next question—you eat kimchi with your fingers? Or were you just too lazy to do the dishes?"

Chanyeol pauses. "Did you lick it?"

"I had to be sure!"

"You're disgusting."

"You're the one who can't be bothered to wash his hands."

Chanyeol turns to Jongin. "You must be the stalker. You sure you want to keep following around some kid who licks notebooks?"

Jongin goes bright red, dropping his chin against his chest in embarrassment. So Baekhyun had mentioned him at some point.

"Do you ever shut up? His name's Jongin. I told you that this morning." Baekhyun kicks a foot out in Chanyeol, who side-steps it with the reflexes of someone who was used to being kicked at.

"Nice to meet you, Jongin. I'm the roommate." He waves the notebook in Jongin's direction. "Anything you need to know, come to me first. I've been living with him for four years now—"

"Chanyeol." The steely tone of Baekhyun's voice registers immediately with Chanyeol. He lets his hands fall down by his sides and smiles guiltily.

"Fine. I'll see you back at the apartment." He wiggles his eyebrows. "Nice meeting you, Jongin. I'm sure I'll see you around."

Baekhyun glowers at Chanyeol's retreating back for a full ten seconds before shaking his head back into his homework. "Every year, I tell myself I'm going to get a single apartment. Every year, he cons me into re-signing our lease together." He hunches his shoulders over his paper, the discomfort radiating from the tense lines of his body. "Don't—I—mean—I'm sorry. He's kind of an idiot. I hope he didn't make you uncomfortable. I just—I mean. I don't _actually_ think you're a stalker."

"If I'm a stalker, you're making my job easier on me when you invite me out for coffee," Jongin quips, draining his mug of the last few gulps of lukewarm coffee and shooting a glance at his phone. He's supposed be across the campus and sitting in his seat for his physics lecture in ten minutes. He's never going to make it unless he leaves _right now_. He swallows, kneading his hands anxiously against his thighs as he tries to figure out how to make a natural exit.

Baekhyun looks up. "Sorry for making you sit around like this. I meant to get my work done this morning. I had a late night, though. Slept through my alarm." He makes a face. "Some guy interrupted my practice session."

"What an ass," Jongin says wryly. "They should really install some security measures in the music building to stop the riffraff from intruding on your midnight practice sessions."

"Believe me, I've already put in a request for it." The book Baekhyun's been balancing between his knees snaps shut with a decisive thud and he flashes Jongin a wide grin, eyes twinkling. "So, when's your next class?"

"Now."

"Jesus, why didn't you say something?" He sits up hurriedly. "I figured you had time to kill with the way you were just zoning out over there."

He shrugs uncomfortably. "Didn't want to interrupt you. It seemed important."

"And your class isn't?" Baekhyun runs a hand through his hair, looking slightly upset. "Now I feel like a dick. I asked you out and barely even spoke to you."

"It's not really that important," Jongin lies, pushing the quiz he'd failed last week out of his mind. "I had fun anyway.

"Bullshit." Baekhyun shakes his head and reached into his pocket. "Look, let me pay you back for the coffee—"

Jongin holds up his hand. "No. It's fine. Don't worry about it."

"No, come on. I don't want this to be—" He flushes brightly and clears his throat. "I mean. I'd actually like to pay attention to you next time."

"Next time?"

"This weekend, maybe?" His voice trails upward, face hopeful. Jongin almost nods before he remembers the audition tapes he's supposed to be filming this weekend. His heart sinks in his chest.

"I wish I could. I've got this— _thing_ —I have to film an audition tape to send out to summer festivals. It's hard to explain."

"You think dancers are the only people who audition for things?" Baekhyun snorts. "Where?"

"Not sure yet. My professor thinks I should do a workshop. My roommate joined a touring summer show last year, so that's always a possibility—"

"No. Where are you recording your tape?" 

Jongin's taken aback. "Oh. Dance department studio, probably."

"Your usual midnight shift?"

"Probably—why?" His phone informs him he has seven minutes left to get to class. He can be there in five, maybe, if he hurries.

"Maybe I'll come watch," Baekhyun says, standing up to push a few bills into Jongin's hand. "You've spied on me enough. Maybe I should return the favor."

"I said don't worry about it—wait—hold on." His brain rewinds to the part of the conversation where Baekhyun talked about spying on him. It rewinds again and then stalls out. _He wants to come see me?_

"You can buy me another one this weekend," Baekhyun's voice breaks through his daze. "I'll make sure you have a chance to." He flashes Jongin an electric smile, teeth white and gleaming. "You're going to be late."

Jongin sprints the entire distance from the coffee shop to the physics building, sliding into his seat panting and out of breath exactly one minute after the bell rings. Taemin shoots him a puzzled sidelong glance but slides his notes across the table for Jongin to copy over anyway. _I'd actually like to pay attention to you next time—Maybe I should return the favor—_ Jongin's face burns, stomach clenched with giddy excitement as the words echo in his head, stuck on repeat: _Maybe I should return the favor._ He fiercely hopes Baekhyun's as good as his word.

__

♫♫♫


	3. Chapter 3

♫♫♫

After the initial thrill wears off, Jongin's all but forgotten Baekhyun's promise by the time Saturday night finally rolls around. He declines the invitation to go out with Sehun and Taemin and some of the other dance majors in favor of poring through the summer workshop listings, hoping to find something that sounds like it won't be a complete waste of his time.

"You really shouldn't be picky at this point." Sehun rolls his eyes as he tugs on a shirt two sizes too small and inspects himself in the mirror by the front door. It'd taken him nearly an hour to settle on this particular jeans-shirt-hair combination and Jongin's hoping he'll settle on this one, since his entire wardrobe is already strewn everywhere across the apartment, along with a few things that Jongin seems to remember used to belong to him. "You'll be in deep shit with Uhm if you don't have anything to show him on Monday."

Jongin pushes the small pile of applications on his desk onto the floor and moans into his hands. "Why is this so hard?"

"Because you're making it hard," Sehun sing-songs, shrugging a light sweater over his shoulders. He looks back at Jongin's miserable face and smiles. "Look. I saw the ones you printed out. It's a good start. Just do those for now and worry about the rest later. You know Uhm—he's not _actually_ going to kick out his protegé, and any effort you put forward right now is more than he's expecting. You can't really lose."

Jongin stares at him blankly. "Thanks for the pep talk. I think."

"You sure you don't want to come out with us?"

 _Of course I do,_ Jongin thinks wistfully, wishing he was a few beers deep already and out on the dance floor. He'll be out on the floor, alright, but all by himself, and without the pleasant burn of alcohol to keep him going. "No. I've got to go do this tape."

"Suit yourself. We'll be at the usual place if you change your mind."

 

 

Two hours later and he's considering throwing in the towel and telling Uhm he didn't find anything suitable. Maybe ask for some more time. Rivulets of sweat trickle down his back, soaking through the thin cotton of the flimsy tank top he's wearing. He's trying to record a clean execution of the routine he choreographed himself, but fatigue's starting to creep into his joints and he _knows_ his movements aren't nearly precise enough, not for the level at which he knows he's capable of performing. 

He hits the pause button on the iPod he's got hooked up to the studio's speakers, the sudden break in the throbbing beats of Linetzky & Romeo's _Sentimientos_ leaving a cold silence in the studio, and sits down on the floor, his forehead against his knees. _One more time,_ he promises himself, _and then you can go meet everyone at the bar. They're probably still there—right?_ He sits up, squinting at the clock on the wall, and then startles.

A familiar face is peering at him through the small glass panel in the door just under the clock.

Baekhyun.

His heart leaps into his throat as the door slowly pushes open and Baekhyun shoulders his way through, clutching two cups of coffee in his hands and grinning.

"It was pretty easy to find you," Baekhyun says, offering the cardboard cup to Jongin. "It's the only light on in the place. Here, I brought you one, too."

"I thought I was supposed to buy you coffee," Jongin says, gratefully swallowing mouthfuls of the warm, bitter liquid. He usually opts for water when he was dancing, but after the night he's had, the caffeine seems like a great idea.

"Yeah, well. I'm atoning for yesterday's sins." Baekhyun rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "Seriously. I'm sorry about lunch. I just get hyper-focused on completing things so I've got more time to practice. Sometimes that hinders… you know… everything else. Life." He presses the rim of his coffee cup against his lip thoughtfully. "Chanyeol says it makes me a robot. I'm trying, though. It's not like I don't _know_."

Jongin smiles gently. "It's okay. You know what you want."

"Yeah. I do. I'd like friends, too, though. It's just hard to balance. I mean, I've got grad school auditions next year, and there's this concerto competition coming up—"

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It's—the winner gets to play a concerto with the school's orchestra next semester. It's a big deal, it's always a senior or a graduate student. I've been working on my piece since last year."

"That sounds really cool." Jongin rolls his shoulders a little. The dull ache as his muscles cool reminds him: "But wait. Should you be working on something like that with your tendonitis? Aren't you supposed to take it easy?"

Baekhyun shrugs. "I'm fine, I guess. I haven't needed to wear my braces as much lately." He twists his mouth for a moment, his mind clearly elsewhere, before his eyes snap up to Jongin's. "Anyway. What are you working on? I kind of like the song you're using. You've got a thing for tangos."

 _Whoops._ "Entirely unintentional," Jongin assures him. "Just a coincidence."

Baekhyun smirks. "I'm sure."

An easy silence falls between them as Baekhyun appraises the studio, his lips pursed in thought. Jongin makes a surreptitious attempt at wiping the perspiration from his face and arms with the hem of his shirt while Baekhyun's back is turned, gazing at the mural on the other end of the studio. Jongin hasn't given much thought to it recently—a ballet scene with the colors all wrong, done in blazing neon shades to look like pop art, ballerina tutus a glowing, rosy fuchsia, toe shoes a vibrant green. He sees it every day. It's nothing special to him anymore—just as much a part of the furniture and the room as the floor or the chairs in the corner. The sofa in Uhm's office.

"This is cool," Baekhyun says, gesturing at it with his drink. "I wish we had something like this in the music building. It hasn't been repainted in forever."

"I noticed."

He turns. "Well. Don't let me interrupt you. Keep going." He perches on top of the table at the far end of the room, legs crossed. "I'll be quiet, I promise," and as if to emphasize his point, he holds a finger up to his lips. "Go on, Baryshnikov. I'm ready to be impressed."

Jongin doesn't have an opportunity to do much of anything, much less anything impressive. The camera dies with a shrill beep less than a minute into Jongin's second run-through.

Baekhyun hops off the table and comes over to see. "You didn't bring the charger?"

"I didn't think it'd take so long to get it right," Jongin admits, kicking at the air just next to the tripod. "Fuck. I don't want to have to do this again tomorrow."

"It looked good to me?"

Jongin laughs wryly. "Remember when you told me that it didn't sound good and not to come back? This is kind of like that."

Baekhyun nods. "I can respect that. Being a perfectionist isn't a bad thing." He straightens up. "What now, then?"

Jongin eyes him. "You want to try?"

"Try?"

"I can teach you something." He's feeling loose-limbed and cheerfully brave after the coffee, even if he's not going to be able to use anything he filmed tonight.

Baekhyun snorts. "You're kidding me."

Jongin restarts the song and holds out his hand. "Come on. I'll let you show me some scales next time I spy on you."

Baekhyun rolls his eyes at the ceiling. "Why… am I letting you do this? I've got two left feet," he warns, "I'll step on you."

"That's okay."

The music ebbs through the speakers, the doleful whine of the violin meandering through the studio, hanging in the air around their bodies. Jongin takes Baekhyun's hand in his—still warm, he notes in the back of his mind—and tries to direct him.

"Move this leg first." He knees at Baekhyun's thigh gently. "Then, step into where my foot is—no—wait until I've moved first—"

"I have—no idea—what I'm doing." Baekhyun laughs into Jongin's clavicle, his feet inelegant and slow. He trips, which trips Jongin, and they both stumble wildly as Jongin fights his balance to keep them upright.

"You're a musician. You should be able to follow counts," Jongin chides when they finally regain their balance, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "You're terrible at this."

"Look," Baekhyun starts defensively, trying to keep a straight face. "My brain can. My fingers can. My feet…"

"Your fingers, huh?" A flush crawls along the back of Jongin's neck and settles hot and tight in his throat. Feeling impulsive, he presses his groin into Baekhyun's, noting with pleasure the tiny squeak of surprise that escapes Baekhyun's mouth. "Here. Try to feel the counts. Follow my lead."

It's hopeless, though. Baekhyun's so distracted by Jongin's sudden confidence that he stumbles after the second count, knocking them off balance all over again.

"Forget it—you're going to have to do it all by yourself," Baekhyun huffs, stepping out of Jongin's embrace.

Jongin gives up, chuckling at the frustrated expression on Baekhyun's face as he nudges a fist against his shoulder. "We'll try again another time."

"Let's agree I'm going to need a lot more dance lessons before I'm able to do anything like that, and that you need to find a way to kiss me that isn't so cheesy."

Jongin's entire body radiates with painful self-consciousness and he takes a few steps back to compensate. "I'm—who says I'm trying to kiss you?"

"Please." Baekhyun rolls his eyes and narrows the distance between them, voice lowering. "Can I just—I'm going to—I'm not going to hurt you, I just—" His fingers splay across Jongin's jaw, pulling it close enough to talk into his mouth. "—wanted to try something," he murmurs, leaning in to close the gap.

It's clumsy at first. Jongin, in his eagerness, catches the v of Baekhyun's chin first, pressing his lips against it like he'd meant to do it all along before Baekhyun tips his head to receive the second kiss squarely on his mouth.

The first thing Jongin learns in that moment is how sensitive Baekhyun is. He skates his hand under Baekhyun's shirt and up his spine like he's holding a book, palm flat, fingers spread wide. Baekhyun shudders into his arms, a deep trembling that starts in his chest and vibrates his entire body, fingertips shaking as they cradle Jongin's face, pulling it towards his own greedy mouth with as much force as he can manage.

 

Somehow they end up back at the music building in a practice room on the fifth floor, side by side on a rickety piano bench, Baekhyun improvising on the tango they'd been dancing to earlier on the old upright piano. Jongin's thumb curls in the belt loop of Baekhyun's jeans, drawing him closer, closer, until he's nearly pulling him into his lap. Every once in a while he brushes his lower lip against the warm skin behind Baekhyun's ear, just to watch his body shiver, his hands pausing over the keys as he blanks on what he'd meant to play next.

It's well into Sunday morning, nearly daybreak, when they stumble out of the practice room, mouths red from kissing, clothes twisted, and head for the exit. Jongin feels a little drunk even though he hasn't touched a drop, giddy, exhilarated. When he thinks back on the past few hours it all feels surreal, one of those evenings where you cling to every moment as it passes, hoping to coax it into staying for a little while longer.

Instead of taking the stairs, Baekhyun tugs Jongin onto the elevator, barely waiting until the doors have slithered shut to kiss him again, mouth open, his hands exploring the control panel behind Jongin's shoulders. He locates the Emergency Stop lever with practiced ease and pulls it. The elevator shudders to a teetering stop somewhere between the fourth and fifth floor.

Jongin yanks back, laughing nervously. "What are you doing?"

Baekhyun's fingers are unyielding, climbing up the rungs of Jongin's ribs to pull aside his shirt for easier access to the snap of his jeans. "Don't worry about it," he murmurs, nipping a trail of kisses down Jongin's throat. "Nobody's here."

"No, seriously, what are you doing? Isn't that connected to an alarm? Somebody's going to call the fire department. They're going to think we're stuck in here." Jongin panicks, arms dropping from Baekhyun's hips to reach towards the console.

His attempt is blocked. He meets Baekhyun's mischievous gaze with wide eyes, his mouth agape.

"It's not," Baekhyun assures him. "People pull it all the time to practice in here when all of the rooms are full. And how likely is it that there's anybody in the building at this hour?" Uncertainty flickers across his face for the first time and he steps back a little, expression sobering. "I'm sorry. Is this going too fast?" He looks a little embarrassed. "I'll stop. But really. There's nobody here. I promise. Nobody's ever here at this time except me."

Jongin considers the implications of getting caught in a compromising position in the music building elevator. His imagination runs away with him a little as his mind fast-forwards through melodramatic scenes of being taken away to the dean's office, having to tell his parents why he's being kicked out of the university, having to register as a sex offender.

Maybe not that last one.

But still. It's really stupid. Reckless.

He's also having a very difficult time ignoring the fact that he's definitely more than a little hard. And it's been a while since he's hooked up with anyone, much less anyone he's actually interested in as a person. And Baekhyun's very hot. And okay, maybe it's _a little_ fast, but it's not—you know—it's not like he doesn't _want to_.

He gulps loudly. "You're sure it's just us?"

The twinkle re-ignites in Baekhyun's eyes just a little as he leans forward. "Yes."

"This is incredibly stupid."

"Uh huh." His hand skims up Jongin's inseam, their gazes locking with a sudden intensity that hadn't been there a moment before.

"I mean, _really_ stupid." Jongin licks his lips, a little dizzy at the proximity of Baekhyun's hand to his crotch. "I—"

Baekhyun crams his mouth against Jongin's, noses bumping, teeth clacking, which effectively silences the conversation.

Jongin's done this in public before (or, in the locker room, anyway), but never in an elevator—never with the hysterical thrill that the emergency stop could be overridden at any moment and they'd start moving again. The adrenaline's making him jittery and hypersensitive; Baekhyun, on the other hand, is surprisingly collected and confident as he unsnaps Jongin's jeans with sure fingers, tugging them down enough to free his erection from his boxers. He strokes it a few times with a spit-slick palm and a loose grip and Jongin nearly comes undone right then, moaning helplessly into the back of his fist.

"Relax." Baekhyun grinned, brushing his lips against Jongin's navel as he lowers to his knees. "This is supposed to be good."

Jongin gasps loudly when Baekhyun laps an idle tongue against the tip of his cock, then nearly swallows his entire fist in surprise when Baekhyun opens his mouth wide and deep-throats Jongin with one swift slide.

" _Shit_ ," Jongin curses, fingers scrabbling in vain at the smooth walls of the elevator, trying to stay upright.

He rakes his fingers through Baekhyun's hair instead, his vision going foggy as he watches Baekhyun's head dip, his cheeks stretched, lips dark pink and swollen, tongue curling around his dick, wandering hands caressing the soft skin of his ass, his thighs, his balls, pulling him deeper into his warm, insistent mouth. Jongin tries to murmur encouragement but it comes out in unintelligible syllables that sound like they're being wrenched from between his teeth, one palm cupped around the back of Baekhyun's neck, the other fisting in his hair, the scruff at the nape of Baekhyun's neck wound around his yanking fingers.

As he feels himself reach the edge, Jongin's eyes glaze over slightly, his breaths shallowing into rapid, jagged gasps as he toes the precipice, trying to hold back. He tugs at Baekhyun's hair to try and get him to sit back but Baekhyun soldiers on obstinately and Jongin just can't hold on any longer, a string of hissed obscenities trailing out of his mouth as he comes hard, hips bucking against Baekhyun's clenched hands. Baekhyun stays fast, hand stroking circles against Jongin's hip. He waits until Jongin's finished before his mouth slides off Jongin with a muted, wet sound. He rocks back on his heels to swallow with a satisfied grin, which is something nobody's ever done for Jongin before. He pulls Baekhyun to his feet by the collar of his shirt and kisses him roughly, tasting himself on the curl of Baekhyun's tongue.

He's still woozy and riding an endorphin high when Baekhyun pushes the emergency stop and the elevator lurches to life once more. Cursing frantically through his labored panting, he tucks himself back into his jeans, shooting Baekhyun a dirty look as he draws the zipper to a close.

Baekhyun chuckles and leans up against the wall, scrubbing at the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand. "I told you we wouldn't get caught."

♫♫♫

Over the next few weeks, Jongin kisses Baekhyun a lot more. Sometimes it's gentle, like that first one; other times, it's rough and impatient, Baekhyun's fingers twisted into the fabric of Jongin's shirt, yanking their lips together with such furious intensity that Jongin feels the bruises hours later. Sometimes during their lunch break over coffee; sometimes in the middle of midnight practices in the recital hall, Jongin sidling up to steal one in the middle of a phrase, leaving Baekhyun to chuckle and shake his head over his missed notes; other times right in front of the dance department, the entire sophomore studio looking on as Jongin leans in and murmurs _I'll see you later_ right into Baekhyun's open mouth. Winter starts to move in but Jongin finds himself warmer than ever, their gloveless hands bumping against each other when they duck under the overhang of buildings to get out of the snow.

"You guys are gross," Chanyeol announces one morning, unwrapping a granola bar and stuffing it into his mouth without bothering to break it into smaller pieces. "Seriously."

Jongin had spent the third night in a row in Baekhyun's bed and is propped up sleepily on his elbows at the island in the apartment's kitchen, staring into the depths of his coffee with drooping eyelids. He barely stirs at Chanyeol's comment.

"Excuse me?" Baekhyun snaps, looking up from the theory homework he'd neglected the night before in favor of crawling on top of Jongin to suck bruises across the smooth expanse of his stomach. "Where did that come from?"

Chanyeol grins. "The walls have ears."

Baekhyun hurls the pencil he'd been holding in Chanyeol's direction. "Yeah, when you're sitting there listening, they do. Stop doing that."

Chanyeol winks at Jongin, who busies himself with tracing the outline of the patterns on the placemats, trying to suppress the blush that's creeping its way up into his cheeks. "Not that I mind, you know. It's just you guys get in so late from practicing, and then—well. I'm just saying."

"Yeah, you say a lot." Baekhyun rolls his eyes. "You're an idiot."

"Well, that wasn't ever really up for debate," Chanyeol remarks, retrieving the pencil from the floor. He goes to hand it back to Baekhyun, who's stopped paying attention to Chanyeol's attempts to bait him and is flexing his fingers slowly, eyes trained on his joints with a furrowed brow. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Baekhyun frowns, accepting the pencil. "I think I need another cortisone shot, is all. I've been working really hard on the Khachaturian in the last couple of weeks. I'm feeling a little sore." He rolls the stiffness out of his wrists as demonstration, eliciting a few loud pops and cracks from his offended joints.

Jongin abruptly raises his head, more than a little startled by the noises. "You said you were feeling better lately."

"Didn't you _just_ have a cortisone shot recently?" Chanyeol leans his hands against the counter. "It's not good to have them back-to-back."

"Two months ago isn't exactly back-to-back."

"You're supposed to spread them out more than that. If it's not working, you need to try something else." He glances over at Jongin, who's studying Baekhyun's face with a worried expression. "Right, Jongin? You dance, you probably know all about this stuff. Back me up on this one."

"Uh, well." Jongin's mouth flaps wordlessly, still hung up on the part of the conversation where Baekhyun hadn't been entirely truthful about the condition his wrists were in. _Why didn't he tell me?_ He flashes to last night, Baekhyun hovering over him, and feels guilty. _Am I making things worse?_

"Leave him out of this." Baekhyun pushes his stool away from the island and gets to his feet. "I've got it. Don't worry, forget I said anything."

"Yeah, that'll happen." Chanyeol shoulders his stick bag and looks between the two of them, any trace of teasing gone from his voice. "Just. You know. Take it easy, alright?"

"I'll be fine, _Mom_." Baekhyun turns his back on Chanyeol and wanders back towards his bedroom. "See you in counterpoint?"

"Maybe."

"No, seriously, you'd better fucking show up. I'm not taking notes for you this time, I'm not covering for you or handing in your homework or _doing your homework for you_. You've got to actually do _some of the work_ if you're planning on claiming this degree. Otherwise, I'll just hang yours up on the wall next to mine. Cross your name out with permanent marker and write mine in, instead."

"You say that every time." Chanyeol laughs. "Besides, is it my fault I'd rather spend my time playing instead of doing tedious bullshit? What good is a performance degree if I don't take every performance opportunity I can?"

"I'm serious."

"You say that every time, too."

"Just fucking leave already, will you? I need to take a shower."

Chanyeol leers playfully. "Is that code for something? I'll leave you guys to it." He throws a mock salute in Jongin's direction and jams his shoes on his feet without bothering to lace them up. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you later, Jongin."

Jongin waves his hand in the direction of the slamming door, face still burning. "Christ, he's more than a little forward," he says when he's sure he's not in danger of Chanyeol eavesdropping on their conversation from the hallway.

"He just does it to annoy me. Don't worry, he's not being serious. He doesn't care." Baekhyun's head pokes out from his bedroom as he snaps his fingers a few times. Summoning Jongin. "You coming?"

Jongin rises obediently, his hands still cupped around the coffee mug. "Hey," he says, trying to sound offhand and casual as he takes a long swig of his rapidly-cooling coffee, "you never said you were in pain. Is your tendonitis really bothering you that much? You should have told me."

"It's fine, seriously," Baekhyun assures him, shucking his boxers and t-shirt in rapid succession. "Nothing a little cortisone and naproxen won't fix."

"But—" Jongin clings desperately to the mug as Baekhyun tries to pry it from his grasp. "Maybe you should take the night off. Come out with me instead. I'm sure Sehun would be up for it, maybe Taemin—"

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. "Oh, no. Not _you_ , too."

"But—"

"After the concerto competition, okay?" Baekhyun's voice weakens, the shaky, pleading tone betraying the defiant look in his eyes. "Please, I've got to do this. It's my last chance at it. I'll take a break over Christmas, I won't even go in the same building as a piano. When we get back for the spring semester, I'll take it easy."

Jongin shifts from one foot to another, looking uncomfortable. "Don't lie to me, it's not cute. I know you've got your grad school auditions coming up next semester."

"Well. Besides those."

"And what happens if you win the concerto competition?"

Baekhyun rubs the back of his neck guiltily. "Besides that, too. No more midnight practices, though, I promise. Cross my heart. I'll definitely, _definitely_ ease up on those."

Jongin sighs heavily, finally releasing his coffee cup into Baekhyun's hands. Baekhyun sets it on the corner of his desk. "I don't think there's anything I can say to stop you from doing what you're doing, is there?"

The cheerful grin returns, Baekhyun's eyes crinkling into half-moons. "Very astute conclusion, Baryshnikov. I take back anything I ever said about dancers being idiots." His hands slither across Jongin's bare skin, the pads of his thumbs tracing unhurried circles against the jut of his hipbones. "How much time do we have before you need to be at the studio?"

Jongin looks over at the clock on Baekhyun's desk, grunting a little as Baekhyun's teeth scrapes lightly against his jawline. "Uh—if I run? We've got—um—half an hour."

"That's plenty," he coos, index finger tracing Jongin's cheekbones and pulling at his chin. "I'll go run the water."

Jongin sighs, unable to shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach as Baekhyun disappears into the bathroom, humming a few bars from _Oblivion_ in his high, clear tenor until the thundering echo of water on tile swallows the sound.

♫♫♫


	4. Chapter 4

♫♫♫

Jongin waits at the coffee shop for their usual lunch date for over an hour that day. It's not really like Baekhyun to forget—or, rather, it's _exactly_ like Baekhyun to become preoccupied with homework or practice and lose track of the time, but he always, _always_ answers the phone with a breathless, _"Shit, I'm sorry! I'll be right there!"_ if Jongin calls enough to break Baekhyun's concentration.

Jongin calls six times, leaving a short voicemail after the last one: "Hey. It's me. Did you forget again? I'm coming to look for you. So… if you get this, just wait for me in the north lobby."

Baekhyun wasn't in the music building's lobby when Jongin arrives, though. He takes a cursory walkthrough of the practice room hallways on the third, fourth, and fifth floors: still no sign of Baekhyun. Frustrated and more than a little worried, Jongin wanders back down to the lobby, hoping he'd just missed him the first time and he'd be there now, waiting, a stack of music bundled under his arm by way of explanation for where he'd been and why he hadn't been answering his phone.

The lobby's empty. He looks at his phone and frowns. It's nearly one o'clock—Baekhyun's got his counterpoint class at one and he makes it a point to never, _ever_ miss that class. _"The professor's a total dick,_ Baekhyun told him once, showing him the pages of staff paper with meticulously penciled lines of music. _"First week, he made everyone re-write an entire assignment because somebody's note stems weren't straight enough. I swear to God. Who has that kind of time?"_

A booming voice down the hallway makes Jongin turn quickly in recognition. _Chanyeol._ His face falls slightly as he sees Baekhyun isn't with him, either.

"Oh, shit. They'll let anybody in here these days," Chanyeol teases, waving as he catches sight of Jongin. "Hey Jongin. How's it going?"

"Hey, Chanyeol," Jongin greets shyly. He's always a little intimidated whenever he interacts with Chanyeol outside of the context of Baekhyun's apartment. It just seems strange, like he's trespassing, being in the music building like this. "Have you seen Baekhyun anywhere?" He sticks a hand in his back pocket, trying to cover his concern by looking as casual as he could manage.

The two other students Chanyeol'd been walking with filter off, shooting Jongin a few curious glances as they continue past. Chanyeol scratches his head thoughtfully with one of his drumsticks. "He's not on the third floor? He just texted me to ask if I could take notes for him in Counterpoint because he was staying to practice an extra hour."

Jongin frowns again. "I was just up there. I didn't see him."

"He usually puts something in front of the window so people can't see he's in there to bother him," Chanyeol supplies helpfully. Behind him, the bell rings shrilly, signaling the end of the noon hour of classes. "Knock on some doors if you have to, there won't be too many people practicing right now. Listen, I'm going to be late—I'll catch you later? Hope you find him." He dashes off, his topknot of hair bobbing above the crush of bodies swarming the hallway.

The first hallway of practice rooms on the third floor is completely empty. Jongin pushes open every door just to make sure, but each room is the same: quiet, still, smelling vaguely of mouthpiece sanitizer and valve oil.

The second hallway has five rooms occupied: a vocalist and a cellist, whose rooms he walked past without bothering to peek inside, and three pianists. The first pianist is a tiny girl who seems to be stretching her legs past their limit as she toes the pedals, hands in jerky, leaping motions above the keys. She sounds good, Jongin supposes, but not as good as Baekhyun. The window next door is covered, just as Chanyeol had suggested, but when Jongin stands very still, he can hear a few quiet notes plinking from within.

He knocks on the door.

The noise stops.

He knocks again.

"It's occupied, sorry." Baekhyun's voice comes tight, matter-of-fact but quiet through the heavy wooden door. Jongin sighs in relief and pushes it open anyway.

"There you are, I've been—" He stops short at the sight of Baekhyun's face, swollen from crying, hair tousled, face damp with tears and perspiration. He's cradling his left arm protectively against his chest, right hand still fanned out on the keys in front of him. Jongin's heart lurches crazily in his chest. "What the _fuck_? Are you okay?"

"What are you doing here?" Baekhyun closes his eyes and swallows, his voice jerking in his throat. "I thought you have class at one."

"Forget about that, it's not important right now." Jongin shuts the door behind him and sat down on the bench. "What's going on? You missed lunch. I called—and I couldn't get a hold of you—"

"Nothing. Nothing's going on. I'm sorry. I just got caught up with this and lost track of the time. You know how I am when I'm working on something."

Jongin wipes away a stray tear on Baekhyun's chin with his thumb. "And this? Music just touching your soul that much?"

"Yes. Listen, can I meet you later? I really need to finish working on this."

"I didn't hear you playing when I walked past. Can I listen for a minute first? Then I'll leave." He tips his head, studying Baekhyun's face, searching for an answer. He knows something is really wrong. It's not like Baekhyun to ignore his phone; it's even less like him to _cry_ while he practiced.

"It's not ready yet."

"Still."

"Jongin, please, just go—" His voice wavers and breaks. Jongin swings a leg over Baekhyun's lap and sits on him, a straddle that would have been intimate enough to lead to _other things_ (and it has, in the past) if it weren't for Baekhyun's quivering lower lip.

Baekhyun ducks his chin against his chest to avoid making eye contact with Jongin. " _Please._ Stop," he begs, drawing his lips into a tight line.

"Tell me what's going on," Jongin says firmly, drying Baekhyun's salty cheeks as best he can manage with just his fingertips.

"Get off me." Baekhyun sniffs, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes again.

"Make me, then. Come on, push me away."

"I can't! I can't, okay?" Baekhyun exclaims. "I can't feel my left hand right now."

The weight of this statement sends Jongin reeling backwards to sit against the lid of the keyboard. After a few seconds of watching Baekhyun's chin tremble as he tries to fight back a sob, Jongin locates his voice. "Are you kidding?"

Baekhyun looks at the wall behind Jongin blankly, his eyes sad and vacant. "I think I pinched something. It's completely dead."

"Baekhyun, what the fuck? This isn't a game, you can't just pretend you're not injured and play like nothing's wrong—" Jongin pries it away from Baekhyun's body to hold it between his own hands, thumb caressing the limp curve of Baekhyun's fingers. "You were supposed to fucking rest, I _knew_ you were pushing yourself too hard."

"I've been sitting here smacking it against things trying to get it to wake up. It always worked before—"

"You've been doing _what_?" Jongin blanches. Baekhyun— _fucking Baekhyun_ —actually smiles a little at this, his eyes finally darting up to meet Jongin's.

"Handless pianist could be a decent gig, you know. Tips would be like, fifty percent pity, and fifty percent _how the fuck does he do that_?"

"You are such an _idiot_ sometimes. Just stop talking," Jongin snaps, his patience with Baekhyun's irreverence finally running out. "You told me you haven't been in as much pain lately. Why did you lie about it?"

Baekhyun raises an eyebrow. "How am I supposed to answer that if I'm not supposed to talk?"

Jongin's torn between pulling Baekhyun into a bone-crushing hug and angrily pushing his head into the keys to knock some sense into him. After considering what to do next, he splits the difference and rises to his feet.

"Come on. Let's go."

"What?" Baekhyun scrubs at his face with the heel of his good hand. "Where are we going?"

"No talking." Jongin loops a protective arm around his shoulders and squeezes, trying his best not to choke Baekhyun out of sheer frustration. "Just shut up and follow me for a little while."

♫♫♫

They don't get back to Baekhyun's apartment on campus until hours later. Baekhyun's been silent since he'd woken from dozing on Jongin's shoulder during the bus ride home. Jongin can't keep his hands off Baekhyun, a hand constantly on his hip or his shoulder pulling him close into his side. Jongin's not even mad anymore, he's just worn out from the day. They'd spent far too long in the waiting room of the free clinic, and then in the tiny examination room, and then after all that the doctor had sent Baekhyun across the street to the hospital for more tests.

The doctor had confirmed Baekhyun's initial suspicions.

"You've pinched the nerve right here," the doctor says, indicating the spot on Baekhyun's wrist with a ballpoint pen. "You'll need to be careful and rest it. If this becomes a recurring problem, you'll have to have surgery to fix it."

"I'm a pianist," Baekhyun protests hoarsely. "I can't – rest isn't an option. Neither is surgery."

"It's up to you, but it doesn't matter if you ignore it. You'll be forced into making one of those choices."

Jongin closes his eyes, wincing at the memory of Baekhyun's pained face when he heard the treatment options. He can't get it out of his head.

The splint Baekhyun was outfitted with is a clunky, tan monstrosity with far too much velcro to be comfortable in any universe (and especially this one), but it immobilizes his wrist, which is mostly the point. He tugs at it forlornly, prompting Jongin to take hold of his other hand—also braced, but far less severely—to stop him.

"I'll tape your arms to your sides if you don't quit it."

"But it itches."

"You'll run out of skin eventually. It'll stop then."

Baekhyun glares at him. "You've been kind of an ass to me all day."

"Were you expecting to be coddled?"

"I fucked up my hand!"

"Yes. You did. Who's been telling you to take it easy?" Jongin asks, his voice softening. "I'm sorry. I was freaked out earlier. You really scared me."

Baekhyun's shoulders hunches upwards against his body like a pair of wings. "I know. I'm sorry. Thank you."

"Yeah. I know." Jongin's desperate for a subject change so he shakes the paper bag they'd picked up at the pharmacy on their way out of the clinic. "You want some drugs? I think they gave you the good stuff."

"Honestly, I just want to take a nap." Baekhyun gives a meaningful glance to Jongin underneath his fringe. "Are you going to go practice, or…?"

"I was going to. Why? You want me to stay?"

"Only if you _want_ to…" Baekhyun trails off reluctantly. He wants Jongin to stay, but he doesn't know how to say it.

Jongin's lips twitch into a soft smile. "I can go later."

 

Baekhyun's only just put his head down on Jongin's shoulder when Chanyeol arrives home, his cymbal bag swinging angrily from his shoulder as he toes off his shoes at the front door. "Baekhyun, where the fuck were you today? And why hasn't your phone been on?"

Baekhyun sits up, blinking sleepily. "Hm?"

"What happened today?" Chanyeol says slowly, setting his things down on the table. "You blew off class. You weren't in wind ensemble. I heard you skipped studio, too."

"Does it really count as skipping if I got kicked out?"

"You what?" Jongin elbows him in the ribs. "Why didn't you tell me that?"

"Only temporarily." He yawns, pressing the brace against his mouth to stifle it. "My lesson this morning.... didn't go well. Professor said I shouldn't play anymore this semester. He went over my head to the dean. Pulled me out of all of my ensembles and everything. All my parts have been reassigned. I'm supposed to _focus on my health and my other studies._ "

Chanyeol's expression is unreadable. "I want to say you deserve it for pulling this shit, but I'm sorry. I know you really wanted to play that Carter Pann thing with us."

"And the Khachaturian. This was my last shot at that competition."

Chanyeol pats Baekhyun on the shoulder in an attempt to console him. "Give yourself some time to rest. Grad school auditions are more important than that stupid thing."

"Oh, really? How's your marimba thing coming along?"

Chanyeol bites his lip, contrite. "Look, I'd rather miss that competition now than miss out on playing for the rest of my life. But that's not really the point, and you know it."

"Whatever."

"Baekhyun—"

"No, I get it. It's just—" The corners of Baekhyun's mouth turn upwards in a poor approximation of a smile. "I'm just disappointed. I'll get over it."

"Do you want the number of my Alexander technique teacher?"

"Couldn't hurt."

"She really helped."

"Okay, sure, that'll be fine." He gets to his feet, swaying slightly as he stumbles across the carpet to his bedroom. "Look, I'm really tired. I'm going to crash for a while." He doesn't invite Jongin to come with him, nor does he wait for him to stand up before he slams the door behind him. The clatter echoes sharply through the quiet apartment.

Jongin doesn't move. He watches the bedroom door for a moment, listening for something—the sound of a tantrum, maybe—before he shoots a disconcerted look back at Chanyeol. "Is he going to be okay?"

Chanyeol sighs and shakes his head. "I don't know," he says finally, raising his palms to the ceiling. "I think he really fucked up this time and he knows it."

"What do I do?"

"Nothing. There's nothing you can do. Either he'll figure it out, or he won't." Chanyeol shrugs. "It sucks, but—professionals know how to take care of themselves, and he hasn't figured out how to do that."

Jongin flinches, surprised at the bluntness in Chanyeol's words.

Chanyeol notices the troubled expression on his face. "Jongin," he says softly, "this is the reality we all live with. You know that."

"Yeah," he says gruffly, "I know. I know. But still."

An uneasy stillness permeates the apartment. Baekhyun's door stays closed.

♫♫♫

Jongin goes to practice after that, but his mind's elsewhere—he keeps seeing Baekhyun's face, distraught, pained—worrying about every twinge, every ache and pain, every misstep.

It's all a little fraught. _This could end so fast,_ he thinks, watching his reflection as he puts in an extra twenty minutes into cooling down properly. _I'm not ready for that._

Baekhyun's awake again but waiting for him in bed, eyelids sinking, his arms, now bare, arranged carefully across the pillows. "You didn't practice very long," he mutters, back arching into a long, deep stretch. "Everything okay?"

"Wasn't feeling it tonight." Jongin's body sinks into the mattress, muscles grateful for the reprieve.

"Oh."

The darkness swallows them. Jongin stares at the silhouette of Baekhyun's profile—the slope of his nose, the smooth curve of his cheeks, the obstinate line of his chin. Baekhyun twiddles his fingers over his head, scrutinizing their movements with a careful eye. The faint drone of Chanyeol's speakers filters through from the next room, the thrumming bass vibrating the walls.

Finally, Baekhyun rolls over, eyes surveying Jongin's face before he leans in, searching with his mouth for purchase. He tries to run his hand through Jongin's hair but his fingers tremble wildly. His elbow comes to rest against Jongin's shoulder instead, his face tilted upwards to accept the kisses Jongin presses against his chin, his lips, his eyelids.

Jongin notices anyway and pulls back, heaving a sigh through his nose.

"Your hands. Are you—"

"Shut up," Baekhyun murmurs, eyes closed. "Just. Don't. Say anything."

Jongin abandons Baekhyun's face and redirects his attention elsewhere, brushing his nose against Baekhyun's knuckles, the knob of his wrist, parting his mouth against the soft skin of Baekhyun's palm.

After a moment of this, Baekhyun pulls his hand away and wriggles free. "Stop."

"Why?"

"You're being sappy. It's grossing me out."

"Fine." Jongin snorts and turns over to look at the ceiling. "You know you're supposed to sleep with the braces on," he says quietly, trying not to nag.

"I did earlier."

"You should now, too."

Baekhyun clucks his tongue with disapproval, but the sound of ripping velcro as he fastens the straps is an encouraging one.

Jongin bumps their knees together. "Taking a rest is a _good_ thing."

Baekhyun clears his throat. "So if someone told you to quit dancing, it'd be easy for you to find something else?"

Jongin's thrown. "Well. No," he begins carefully, "but if someone told me I was wrecking my body and I needed to take a break—"

"You'd try to push through it, too. Don't lie. You're just like me. The minute someone says you can't, you work twice as hard to prove you can."

Jongin chuckles. "Well, I'm not saying you can't. I'm just asking, will you please take some time off?"

Baekhyun scrunches up his face. "How much?" 

"Enough to get better."

He rolls his eyes. "What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

"Go to your classes. Who knows, maybe I can even clear space in my busy schedule to spend time with you?" Jongin teases. "If not, there's always the jousting club that meets on the quad. I hear they're always looking for new members."

Baekhyun laughs, _actually_ laughs, a gravelly croak from the depths of his chest. As they curl back into each other, Baekhyun murmuring sleepily about how much fun it would be to knock Chanyeol over with a lance, Jongin thinks ahead, imagining what a few months of rest and physical therapy will do for Baekhyun's wrist. All the difference in the world, he hopes. It just has to.

 

They'd just barely dozed off, it seemed, when something stirs Jongin awake. He's not sure what—a car outside, maybe, or the streetlight glinting through the open blinds so brightly he almost thinks _it's morning already?_ until he looks at his phone and sees that it's barely past two in the morning. He rolls over with a groan, expecting to collide into Baekhyun's warm body, pull him close, breathe in the smell of his cologne and body wash and fall back asleep.

The bed's cold and empty.

The floor's cold under his feet, too, when he finally decides to leave the bedroom to investigate. It doesn't take long to find Baekhyun. He's standing at the kitchen counter with only the light above the island clicked on, one hand steadied against the sink, the other feeding crackers into his open mouth, barely taking enough time to finish chewing before inserting another one. His shoulders are angled downward, eyes staring out the window without really looking at anything—there's not much to see at this hour with everyone's lights turned out, anyway. Everyone's asleep.

Everyone except Baekhyun.

As he eats, his fingers drum mechanically against the cool metal of the sink, working through the left hand of some phantom piece playing in his mind.

"Hey," Jongin whispers, voice husky from disuse. It breaks the stillness; Baekhyun jerks a little out of surprise and drops the last cracker in the sink.

"You scared me." He tosses a rueful look over his shoulder as he fishes it out and eats it anyway.

Jongin wrinkles his nose. "That's disgusting."

"I was hungry."

"You're not wearing your brace," Jongin notes gently, eyes trained on the soft, exposed skin of Baekhyun's wrists.

"It itches." Baekhyun looks back out the window.

"You're still supposed to wear it." Jongin snakes his arms around him and drops a slow, drowsy kiss on the nape of Baekhyun's neck. A noticeable shiver travels up the length of Baekhyun's body.

He tries to cover for it, hoping Jongin didn't notice. "Are you hungry? There are more crackers in the cabinet."

"No," Jongin murmurs, parting his lips against the shell of Baekhyun's ear. He'd definitely noticed.

They stand like that for a while in the quiet of the kitchen, Baekhyun rocked back on his heels against Jongin's chest, the fingers from both hands tapping now, eyes closed, chin nodding to keep time.

"What are you playing?" Jongin asks finally, skating his hands down Baekhyun's wrists to silence them.

"Second movement."

"You can't do this later?"

"I'm almost done."

Jongin smiles into the crown of Baekhyun's head. "And then you'll come back to bed?"

Baekhyun nods.

He pulls back his hands, lowers his chin into the dip of Baekhyun's shoulder and listens to the muted patter of fingertips on stainless steel. When he holds his breath, he swears he can hear the notes curling softly from beneath Baekhyun's palms like an offering to the night.

♫♫♫


	5. Chapter 5

♫♫♫

Getting out of bed the next morning proves to be very difficult. Jongin feels heavier, his joints stiff; everything seems to be moving in slow motion. The walk to the dance department is bitterly cold, too, with the gusts of wind cutting right through his coat and the scarf knotted around his neck. He's not sure if it's the stress from the day before or the interrupted sleep, but he drained a third cup of coffee before he'd left Baekhyun's apartment and he still has trouble staying alert in studio. Twice, Sehun has to stomp on his foot to stop him from tuning out and each time, he jerks back to attention with a small cry that draws quiet giggles from surrounding classmates. Uhm raises an eyebrow but mercifully, doesn't say anything until class was dismissed.

"Jongin? My office a minute," he calls over the exodus of students crowding the door. Jongin nods wearily, anticipating the worst.

"He saw you falling asleep," Sehun trills cheerfully in his ear. "You're going to get so much shit."

"I know. Shut up," Jongin groans, mopping his sweaty face with the edge of his shirt. He feels like skipping the rest of his day and going back to Baekhyun's, to sleep. "I didn't sleep well last night."

"Oh _really_?" Sehun asks, and leering grin lights up his face.

"I'll kill you, Sehun."

"What?"

"It's—no, it's not that. Just. Be serious for a second. Baekhyun got hurt." Jongin appreciates that _hurt_ is all he needs to say for Sehun to know, to understand what he means—that it's not some stupid meaningless injury but a career-threatening one, the type of injury every performer lives in fear of, every day.

Sehun's expression sobers instantly. "Shit. Is it serious?"

"Yeah. Kind of. He's got to stop playing for a while."

Sehun puts a hand on Jongin's forearm. "Is he okay?"

"About as okay as you'd expect." Jongin looks down at the door handle to Uhm's office and sighs. "Alright. Here goes."

"I'll wait for you," Sehun promises.

Jongin raps his knuckles loosely against the door and waits for the voice inside to acknowledge him before bowing his way through, eyes trained on the carpet.

"Take a seat." Uhm's already at his desk, a pair of thick, tortoise-shell rimmed reading glasses perched on his nose as he leafs through a stack of mail in his hand. "You feeling alright? You were a little dead on your feet during class this morning."

"Yeah. I'm sorry about that—" Jongin starts, already winding up for an apology.

"Get some sleep, okay? Finals are next week." The glasses slide down Uhm's nose a little further. "But anyway, that's not why you're here."

Jongin sits up, surprised. "It's not?"

"I was impressed by your audition tape," Uhm begins, still filing through the letters. "You've had more than a few callbacks to schedule auditions."

Jongin nods; he'd already committed to a few of them. "I know. First one's in February."

"Did you know I sent it out to a few other places?"

"No? You—what?"

"It was good. I wanted to do a little fishing, see what kind of interest was out there so I could show you what's possible." He drops a stack of letters in Jongin's lap. "Turns out, there's a lot." He leans back in his chair. "You should take a couple of those, as well. You probably won't make it to the last round—you'd be competing against seasoned professionals—but I think it'd be good for you to get an idea about what you'll be up against once you leave here."

Jongin's floored as he skims the names on the envelopes, each one addressed to a Mr. Kim Jongin. "I—wow. Thank you. This is incredible."

"I'm not finished."

Nervously, he tears his eyes away from the correspondence in his hand. Here comes the admonishment—

"There's a project I usually assign to the fourth years. But I think you should give it a shot. I know." Uhm holds up a hand. "It's probably not fair that I'm giving you extra work, but I'm interested to see what you can do with it. If your tape's any evidence, I think you've got a knack for choreography and this won't be too difficult for you."

The clock on the wall ticks steadily. Jongin swallows, wondering if it's possible to turn up the volume on an analog clock, because he's _positive_ the ticking is getting louder. 

"You'll need to work up a piece, three to five minutes in length, for six people. You'll need to perform it at the studio recital at the end of the year. You think you can handle that?"

Jongin winces a little when he thinks back on how sore his body had been after choreographing and recording the audition tape. A lot of that had been improvised on the spot. He can't imagine what it's going to be like working through the choreography of an entire piece and then teaching it to someone else. Five someone elses. His mind spins dizzily with the amount of work looming over his head.

"You're saying this like I've got a choice, but I don't, do I?"

"Correct." Uhm laughs. "Consider it extra credit to make up for your lackluster performance last semester. Take it seriously, do well, and we'll call it even." He pulls the glasses off of his face and sets them down on the desk in front of him. "You'll be fine, Jongin. Don't overthink it."

"Who am I working with?" 

"Up to you. Pick who you're comfortable working and who you think will perform well. But remember, it's not their grade, it's yours."

"Fantastic," Jongin says drily.

"That's the spirit." Uhm beams.

"I was being sarcastic."

"I chose to hear sincerity." The desk chair protests loudly as Uhm pushes it back against the wall and props his feet up. "I'm done with you. Get out of here."

Jongin waits until he's safely out of Uhm's office to let his face fall. As promised, Sehun's waiting for Jongin just outside, his duffel bag slung across his chest, bouncing back and forth from his left foot to his right foot as he reads the old flyers tacked on the bulletin board.

"What now? You're being kicked out, right?"

"Shut up," Jongin says tiredly, pushing past and making a beeline for the locker room.

"No, seriously, what happened?" Sehun pants, tagging after him. "Are you in trouble? Did you tell him—"

Jongin turns around to shove the stack of letters in Sehun's hand. "Well, for starters, there's _that_."

Sehun's eyes bug out, impressed. "Holy shit. Where did these come from?"

"Uhm made some calls, I guess."

"Must be nice," Sehun murmurs enviously, "I'd give my right arm to audition for some of these companies."

Instantly, Jongin feels guilty. "I'm sorry—it's not that I'm ungrateful. These aren't actually the problem."

"What is?"

"He's making me choreograph a piece for the May recital."

"So?" Sehun shrugs. "You've done that tons of times. Piece of cake."

Jongin pulls his sweatshirt over his head. "For solo pieces. I'm not used to working with other people."

Sehun smiles crookedly. "Maybe that's the point."

"You're really going to turn this into a lesson I needed to learn?"

"Believe it or not, Uhm's _not_ out to get you. He wouldn't have asked you to do it if he didn't think you could pull it off." He hands the letters back to Jongin. "You'll notice he didn't give me any special assignments. He didn't make any calls on _my_ behalf."

Jongin's frustration slackens. "I'm sorry, Sehun. I didn't mean to sound—I'm just worried about it, is all."

"I know." Sehun punches him in the arm. "Don't, though. I'll help."

"Really?"

"For a fee."

"Sehun!" Jongin pulls the zipper on his coat up to his chin.

"For drinks?"

Jongin regards Sehun's cheery offer with suspicion. "How many drinks are we talking, here?"

"How many hours of rehearsal do you think we're going to need?" Sehun scratches his chin thoughtfully. "Sixty? Seventy?"

"You brat, you'll be lucky to get _one_ ," Jongin hisses, swiping in his direction. Sehun dodges Jongin's hand and takes off running down the hallway towards the huge glass double doors, his head tossed back with exuberant laughter.

♫♫♫

Baekhyun's sitting in the student union, the straw from his drink clenched thoughtfully between his teeth as he frowns at his theory homework. He's so focused he doesn't even hear Jongin approach, despite the scuffing from Jongin's improperly-tied sneakers, until he's already leaning forward to relieve the drink from Baekhyun's grasp.

"Hey." Baekhyun wrinkles his nose as Jongin takes a huge swig of coffee that's much closer to lukewarm than iced. "You owe me, that was my last three thousand won."

"Name it. Want me to buy you a fresh one? This is like bathwater."

"Know anything about Milton Babbitt?"

"Not a thing."

"Then you're of no use to me. Go away," he says in a tone that indicates he clearly doesn't mean it. Jongin returns the drink and peers over Baekhyun's shoulder, squinting at the tables Baekhyun has scribbled across his staff paper. The wrist brace has distorted his normally neat, cramped handwriting into illegible lines scrawled unevenly across the page. 

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Learning how to put noise into formal notation."

"Why?" 

"I've been asking myself that all semester." Baekhyun puts down his pen and looks up. "If I can't play anymore, I'll have to know how to do this stuff. So I can teach, maybe."

"You'll be able to play again."

"You hope."

"I know."

The lounge in the student union looks like it was the last home for donated furniture: mismatched couches and armchairs, a few tables; and most strangely, an old piano, the finish peeling from the lid in spots where careless students had abandoned their drinks and left rings of condensation to seep through to the wood. Jongin never understood the university's logic of putting a musical instrument in the middle of a room where studying was encouraged, but Baekhyun loved it, used to sit at it and play when he was tired of sitting still, working through the entire catalogue of show tunes in his repertoire for the few musical theatre students calling out requests in the corner.

Jongin's thinking about this when someone seats themselves at the piano and begins plunking out _Chopsticks_ slowly, deliberately searching for each note. A few people snicker in disapproval. Baekhyun flinches and shakes his head, returning his focus to Jongin.

"You're not usually the one running late. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I guess." Jongin perches on the arm of the chair and tries to tune out the pianist, who moves on to an horrendous version of _Somewhere Over The Rainbow_. "Uhm's got me auditioning for a bunch of companies that are going to laugh me out of the room when they see how short my resumé is, and he also wants me to choreograph something for the spring recital."

"That's good though, isn't it?" Baekhyun frowns at the notes on his paper and erases something. "He's giving you opportunities to prove yourself."

"It's stressful."

"Did you think this was going to be a relaxing career choice?" An amused smile plays on Baekhyun's lips, an expression more at home than the sour scowl he's been sporting lately. "That's adorable. I was young once, too."

"Sehun's already given me this speech, so you can spare me. I know what I need to do."

"You're just going to bitch about it while you do it?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"You're lucky I already own a pair of earplugs."

The pianist's friend finally manages to drag him away and a relieved hush falls over the students in the lounge.

"How many finals do you have?" Jongin asks, trying to distract Baekhyun from staring at the vacant piano.

"Only three now that they've indefinitely postponed my jury."

"They'll let you make it up?"

"When I can play again, yes," he says carefully. "I had a meeting with my professor earlier today."

"Oh?"

"He recommended I take another year."

Jongin's face contorts. _Another year._ "What about grad school?"

"I'm not going to be back in time for auditions."

"There's—nothing they can do? Can't you reschedule?"

"Nope." Although Baekhyun's smiling, his face is completely devoid of any genuine happiness as he says, "This is the real world. They really don't care what I did to myself. A deadline's a deadline."

The inside of Jongin's mouth suddenly feels very, very dry. "Shit. I'm—I'm so sorry."

"There's no way I'm graduating this spring, anyway. I can't meet all the performance requirements for my degree if I can't play." Baekhyun shrugs tiredly and looks up at Jongin. "Whatever. People who graduate on time are like people who leave the party at ten, right?"

Tightness creeps into Jongin's chest, winding around his lungs and constricting his breathing. It was a lot worse than he expected—he'd been thinking a few weeks, at most, followed by a triumphant return after the holidays. Not this. Not an injury severe enough to force Baekhyun into repeating a year.

"You're just taking a victory lap," he quips drily, at a loss for anything practical to say.

Baekhyun scoffs and lets his braced hand come to rest on Jongin's thigh. "Yeah," he says. "Something like that."

♫♫♫

After finals are over for the semester, Baekhyun goes home for winter break while Jongin opts to stay on campus, eschewing a family Christmas for long days spent in the studio, sweating, knees bruised as he worked through a routine only to scrap it, dissatisfied, and start all over again. It takes him a week just to settle on a piece of music he wants to use (and then proceeds to change it three times after that, holding the phone up to the speakers, Baekhyun on the other end of the line: _"What about this one? What do you think of this?"_ )

"Stick with what you know," Baekhyun says after the third song change, sounding exasperated. "You don't need to reinvent the wheel."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Think about what you'd be doing if it was a solo and go with that."

Jongin pauses for a moment before he lets his head thud loudly against the wall. "I'm going to fail," he moans, voice echoing in the vast, empty space. Baekhyun snickers into the receiver.

"Probably."

"You're not helping."

"I wasn't trying to. I gave that up two songs ago."

Jongin rolls his eyes. He can picture Baekhyun, sitting cross-legged on the end of his bed, phone balanced between his chin and his shoulder, probably fidgeting with the velcro on his splint—if he'd bothered to put it on.

"How's your wrist?" he asks, now that he's thinking about it.

Silence on the other end.

"Hello?"

"It's fine," Baekhyun says, clearing his throat, and then suggests yet another song as a way to change the subject away from his wrist.

♫♫♫

Baekhyun returns to campus in January, a few days before classes begin. Jongin watches him as he traipses to and from the music building with Chanyeol, his shoulder bag laden with textbooks. He looks lost, the corners of his mouth tugging downward ever so slightly, the light in his eyes dwindling when he thinks no one was paying attention.

They fall into a new routine: Jongin comes over each evening after practice. On the good nights, Baekhyun waits for him on the couch, armed with bags of frozen vegetables to ice Jongin's ankles, coaxing ibuprofen from the bottle into his outstretched palms to wash down with sips of water before peeling him away to bed.

In the middle of the night, half-asleep, Baekhyun wakes up just enough to pull himself on top of Jongin, his erection already painfully hard against Jongin's inner thigh.

"Shh, Chanyeol's going to wake up," Baekhyun cautions as Jongin groans awake and flips Baekhyun against the mattress with his knees, hand searching in the dark for the condoms and lube Baekhyun's started keeping under the pillow to expedite these occasions. Baekhyun wriggles out of his sweatpants and kicks them to the end of the bed. 

"Let me." Baekhyun intercepts the foil packet, tearing it open with his teeth and tossing the wrapper aside somewhere behind him on the sheets to be found sometime the next morning (usually stuck to someone's arm, if the past few mornings are any indication).

"You've been practicing, show-off," Jongin notes, pressing a messy, breathless kiss against Baekhyun's jaw. The lube's cold, so he rubs it between his palms to warm it up a little before tracing slippery fingers around Baekhyun's ass. He introduces one, gradually, easing back out as Baekhyun seethes through his teeth.

"It's still cold." He pushes himself back into Jongin's hand. "Keep going."

Jongin fingers Baekhyun for a while, in no particular hurry, kissing Baekhyun's stomach and thighs until Baekhyun starts whimpering desperately, body trembling: "Just fuck me already. _Please._ "

Still, Jongin moves to it slowly, balancing on an elbow, the other hand bracing against Baekhyun's thigh as he eases himself to the hilt and holds himself there, waiting for the tension to ease from Baekhyun's muscles before he continues. It's as though a switch is flipped, and Baekhyun's body relaxes all at once, inviting him in.

"This okay?" he murmurs, leaning forward. Baekhyun's mouth is there to meet his, nodding. He retreats a little, the tip of his cock holding Baekhyun wide open, letting Baekhyun dictate the pace and pull him back in, hips rolling in shallow thrusts. Baekhyun clenches so tightly around his dick that Jongin nearly comes the first time he pushes back inside, vision blurring, edged in flecks of light. A dull heat licks in his abdomen, muscles growing taut with so much pressure he struggles to bite back the sob.

Baekhyun rocks up to kiss Jongin, panting things against his teeth like _fuck_ and _yes_ and _harder_ , his own cock hard against his stomach, flushed dark and sticky with precome. His shoulders arch against the mattress, spine coiled back like an engaged trap, body rising to push against Jongin's, one hand jerking himself in short strokes against Jongin's rhythm, the other fisted tightly in the sheets. He comes hard and without warning on Jongin's chest, teeth sunk into his lower lip. Jongin follows shortly thereafter, holding himself against Baekhyun with both hands, gripping finger-shaped bruises into Baekhyun's skin as he waits for the aftershocks to stop radiating through his groin.

Jongin barely has time to pull out and clean up before exhaustion threatens to claim him. He nestles himself around the arc of Baekhyun's body, his breath hot on Jongin's neck as they whisper tiredly to each other. They never make it to the end of the conversation, but they always wake up smiling, still wrapped around each other.

 

On the bad nights (and there are five in particular, one for each audition Baekhyun had to forgo), Chanyeol answers the door instead. "You know the drill," he says grimly, gesturing towards the closed bedroom door.

"Which one was it today?"

"Yale."

"Ouch." Jongin winces. He actually recognizes that one.

Baekhyun's curled into a ball on his side of the bed. He barely flinches when the door clacks softly against the frame. Jongin shucks his jeans and crawls into bed still in his sweatshirt and underwear, reaching over Baekhyun's body to hit the lights.

"How was practice?"

"I'm exhausted."

"You get the B section figured out yet?"

"Nearly."

"You've got to start rehearsing with everyone soon, you know," Baekhyun reminds him, rolling over. His shirt is twisted, his eyes solemn, lips drawn. "At a certain point, you'll have to call it good enough and get to work."

Jongin knows better than to argue when Baekhyun's in a mood like this. "Yeah. I know. It'll be okay."

"You hope."

"It will." He pulls back the covers and crawls inside, slinging a leg over Baekhyun to draw him closer. "And you? What'd you do tonight?"

Shrug.

"Sounds like I missed a good time."

Another shrug.

"Chanyeol said it would have been Yale today."

No answer. Jongin lets a slow breath eke out through tightened lips, palming the contour of Baekhyun's hipbones.

"I'm sorry." He doesn't know what else to say to Baekhyun, and he knows that there isn't really anything that can make this better for him. He can't fix his wrist, he can't get his auditions back. All he can do is lie here and listen.

"What are you sorry for? I did it to myself. I knew better." Baekhyun skims his hands under Jongin's shirt. "I would have played the Chopin for this," he murmurs quietly against Jongin's neck, spidery fingers ghosting across the keys of Jongin's ribs, "the Rachmaninov." He hums a few bars. "The Liszt."

Jongin nods along, resting his chin on the top of Baekhyun's head. "It sounds great." He swallows thickly, burying his nose in the tangle of dark waves at Baekhyun's crown. "Really great."

"It would have been."

♫♫♫


	6. Chapter 6

♫♫♫

12:21 _jongin it's chanyeol_  
12:21 _ru there?_  


Jongin's first scheduled audition falls during the first weekend of February. He'd completely forgotten all about it until the day before, when Sehun reminds him: _"This is the one we're taking together! How could you forget?"_

"I've had other things on my mind," he says, feeling sick as he thinks first of Uhm's assignment, then almost immediately afterwards of Baekhyun, who has become increasingly morose as the weeks have dragged by.

The hardest part, Jongin discovers early on, is being utterly powerless to change anything about the reality Baekhyun is facing. Anything that Jongin _can_ do for him feels trivial, insignificant; no matter how many times Baekhyun reaches out to affectionately thumb at Jongin's wrist and insist that he appreciates the help, it never feels like it's enough. No amount of attention Jongin lavishes on Baekhyun seemed to stop him from lashing out in frustrated anger at Chanyeol for leaving dishes in the sink or even Jongin, occasionally, for asking about the brace when he dared to go without. He snaps out of it quickly, shamefaced apologies following on the heels of these outbursts, but it doesn't stop the worried lines from etching themselves into Jongin's forehead every time he reaches out his hands to smooth the bitterness away from the plane of Baekhyun's shoulders.

It's still pitch dark outside when Jongin rouses himself that morning, his body protesting indignantly at having to leave the warmth under the covers to venture into deep freeze of Baekhyun's living room. Baekhyun watches sleepily from the doorframe, swaddled in the comforter he pilfered from the bed. 

"You look nervous," he notes around a yawn.

12:22 _baekhyun played in the competition_  
12:23 _did u know he was going 2?_  


"I am," Jongin mutters, holding a toe-touch for twenty seconds longer than he usually does, waiting for the anxious shivering in his muscles to subside. He's in better shape than he's been in quite some time and still he doesn't feel prepared for this. "I feel like I'm going to puke."

"Don't do it in the middle of your audition," Baekhyun advises. "That's embarrassing."

"Shut up, I'm serious." Jongin squeezes his eyes shut. "I've never been this nervous for an audition before."

"Well, don't fuck this up."

"Baekhyun. Quit it."

"Hey. I'm just messing with you." Baekhyun's voice softens, still slightly raspy from sleep. "Get out of your head and just do it. You'll be great."

12:25 _hand went dead 2nd mvt_  


Jongin tries to laugh but it comes out a strangled bark instead. "You give me whiplash when you stop being an asshole out of nowhere like that, you know?"

"I like to keep people guessing. It's part of my charm." Baekhyun flashes Jongin a megawatt smile. "Break a leg. And call me when you're done. We'll go out."

12:26 _every1 heard_  
12:27 _he rly freaked out_  
12:28 _i got him home_  


When the first few text messages from Chanyeol start to come in, Jongin's phone is buried in his bag under a pile of clothes.

12:40 _can u come here? he'll talk 2 u_  


The audition is standard group format: choreography taught to the entire room at once, then smaller collections of dancers are called back to perform the choreography for a small contingent of directors and company staff. Sehun had arrived much earlier and secured a number in the single digits; Jongin's had three. Jongin sidles up to him to scope out the competition, and they're both relieved to see that they're _not_ the worst ones here, not by a long shot. They've actually got a chance.

"How is he?" Sehun asks.

Jongin shrugs and pulls his arm over his head in another stretch. "No change," he says, like he always says.

1:32 _jongin??? where ru?_  


Hours later, the assembly's been culled down to less than thirty. Jongin had passed through. So had Sehun. Jongin's relief is immense. He'd nailed an audition, first time out of the gate. He doesn't need to take any of the other ones, not if he doesn't want to—and he doesn't, not with Baekhyun to think of, and the spring recital on the horizon.

"We're taking everyone out for dinner." The director points at the line of dancers in the room. "Go get changed and meet across the street. We've got reservations, so they're waiting for us. We'll talk about expectations for this summer and what you can expect to get out of this program, and if you've got any questions for us, now will be the time to ask them." He beams, clasping his hands together. "Congratulations, everyone. Welcome on board!"

A smattering of applause erupts, mostly from the staff, who are lined up around the studio. They look just as relieved to be finished with the tedious part of the day as Jongin feels. After the group breaks, Sehun wanders over to Jongin, grinning as they bump their fists together.

2:48 _jongin? hello?_  


"Nice job. Guess you don't suck as much as everybody thought."

They fall in step with each other walking towards the locker room.

"Right back at you."

Jongin is astounded to see fourteen missed text messages waiting for him when he pulls his phone out of his bag. He scrolls through his notifications, thumbnail wedged idly between his front teeth.

3:11 _he locked himself in his room_  


Sehun looked over his shoulder. "You should be a little less obvious if you've got someone on the side. Baekhyun's going to see that—"

4:53 _o shit ur audition._  
4:53 _break a leg!!!!!!!! :D!_  


Cold panic inches up Jongin's spine. The humid air of the locker room suddenly feels stifling as he skims through the messages again, reading them two, three times over just to make sure he's not imagining things before he slides his phone deep into his bag and zips it.

"What's up?" Sehun's voice breaks through his distraction. "Jongin? You look like you're going to puke."

Jongin shakes his head. He can't explain—how can he explain? He has no idea what's going on Baekhyun _can't_ have— "Hey—something's come up. I can't go to dinner."

"You can't bail on this dinner," Sehun gasps disapprovingly. "These people just hired you."

"Tell them I had an emergency." Jongin yanks on his coat, hands struggling their way through the sleeves. "And that I'm _sorry_ and that I'll explain everything later and that I'm really looking forward to working with them."

"Hey! Tell them yourself!"

"No time!" Jongin calls, hands buried in the pockets of his coat, hoping to scrounge up enough change to catch the bus.

♫♫♫

Chanyeol's waiting for Jongin when he arrives, sorely out of breath and heaving to catch it from the three block sprint from the bus stop. Chanyeol's grinning by the time Jongin rounds the corner, so he must have heard him coming. Hard not to, Jongin supposes, hands jammed into his sides trying to prevent a stitch from forming. He hadn't even bothered to put his shoes on properly before he'd left the locker room.

"How'd your audition go?" Chanyeol asks. He's still dressed for the concerto competition—a rich, dark blue dress shirt, the sleeves crisply rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of dark trousers that look like they may have been properly tailored once upon a time (perhaps before his last growth spurt). It's the nicest outfit Jongin's ever seen him wearing.

"I was accepted, so I guess it went alright," Jongin says, distracted, peering over Chanyeol's shoulder at the door. 

"That's great news! Congratulations!" Chanyeol enthuses. "I know you've been working hard."

Jongin shrugs it off and puts a hand out on the wall to steady himself, muscles still quivering from the exertion. "How he'd manage—I thought his professor pulled him from everything. What happened?"

The pleased smile fades from Chanyeol's face. "He talked to the committee last week, apparently. Argued that it wouldn't be fair not to give him a shot because he's still enrolled, and he's a senior so he meets the qualifications, blah blah, had given his wrist adequate rest, blah. I didn't know what he was up to, either."

"And they _agreed_? Jesus."

"How could they know? I think he really believed himself. I think he believed he'd rested it enough. I think he expected to blow them away with how great he sounded. That this was going to be his triumphant comeback."

Jongin's hand is already on the doorknob. "I'm going to kill him."

"Hey." Chanyeol catches at Jongin's arm and tugs it. "Look. Go easy on him. He just humiliated himself in front of an entire panel of people he has a lot of respect for."

 

Surprisingly, Baekhyun answers the door when Jongin knocks on it. He peeks his head out, still dressed in his suit, and scowls when he sees it's Jongin. "Of course he called you," he says, reeling away, thumb pushing up into the knot of his tie.

"Yeah, of course he did. Why didn't _you_ call me?"

"How'd your audition go?" Baekhyun drops the tie onto his desk and gets to work unbuttoning his shirt.

"I passed. I'll be spending the summer at their workshop."

Baekhyun smiles then, and for a moment it's genuine, his eyes alight. "That's great. What a relief."

"Yeah," Jongin says, "I'm supposed to be at a dinner with the directors right now, but I'm here instead."

The light vanishes. Baekhyun goes back to undressing, sitting down on the edge of his bed to untie his shoes. "Well. That wasn't the smartest decision you've ever made."

"You want to lecture me about bad choices? You really think you're the best person to do that right now?"

"Here we go." A black leather loafer sails past Jongin and lands noisily in the closet, followed closely by its mate. "I knew this was coming. This was why I didn't call you."

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Jongin asks, pressing the heels of his hands against his temples. He feels the dull stab of a tension headache coming on with very little hope for relief.

"You know exactly what I was thinking."

"Yes!" Jongin explodes. "Yes, of _course_ I do. I just want to know how you could be so stupid. And you _know_ you knew it was stupid, because you didn't tell me what you were going to do."

"I don't need your permission, Jongin—"

"You _know_ that's not what I meant."

Baekhyun sets his jaw into a stubborn line. "I wanted to."

"No, you wanted to win. You wanted to prove that you were better and that you're in control of your body. You didn't want to fall apart in front of the faculty or anybody else that heard you."

"So you're embarrassed that I hacked through it?"

The tension between them is palpable. Jongin manages to close his hanging jaw, swallowing tightly at Baekhyun's accusation.

"What? No. No, I don't give a shit, except I know it's not what you meant to do and it's not what you're capable of. Because I know this just disappointed you even more than if you just sat back and let it pass."

Baekhyun leans his face into his open palms. "How could I do that?" he says, his voice muffled through his long fingers. "I'm not you."

Jongin stiffens. He hadn't expected a comment like that to come from Baekhyun. "What? What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you bailed on networking to come here. For what? To yell at me?"

"Some things are more important than kissing asses."

"Like what?"

"You, you idiot," Jongin snaps impatiently, hand still pressed to his forehead. "You're more important."

Baekhyun's head wrenches from his hands in surprise. This is the first time either of them has ever alluded to what's been going on between them over the past few months, and he looks genuinely uncomfortable that it's coming in the middle of their first real argument. 

"Well, I don't know what you want me to say," he says, "because I can't promise that I would do the same thing for you. I'm here for a reason. What about you?"

Jongin sinks his teeth into his lip, eyes sullen. "I'm here for a reason too. Don't be an ass."

"Why do you bother taking auditions if you're going to blow them off for trivial things? You've been working your ass off and now you're here. This?" He points at his bare wrist. "This shouldn't mean a fucking thing to you. It's not a factor. It's not your wrist. It shouldn't get in _your_ way. Let me deal with it."

"Yeah, you've been doing a _great_ job dealing with it. Where's your splint?"

"Hey, look, I didn't ask you to take care of me and I don't want you to." Baekhyun pauses for a moment. "Look. Just... go home, okay? I want to be alone tonight."

" _Baekhyun._ "

"Please," he whispers hoarsely, his voice suddenly quiet and unsure. "I'm not—I'm not saying forever. Just tonight. We'll talk tomorrow. Just let me have some space."

Jongin rocks back on his feet, stunned. "I don't want to go." He puts his hand on Baekhyun's shoulder and squeezes. "Let me stay. I'll go get us some dinner, we can—"

"Jongin." Baekhyun smiles sadly. "Don't worry. I'm—I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said just now, it was out of line. But I just—"

"—I know, it's okay—"

"Please."

Jongin nods against the tightness in his throat. His eyes and nose sting fiercely but he doesn't want to cry, not now, not in front of Baekhyun. "Fine. I'm sorry, I'll—I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I'll call you," he says. He moves to touch Jongin, and then seems to think better of it, and turns away.

 

Chanyeol's sprawled out on the couch when Jongin emerges from Baekhyun's room. He's out of his nice clothes and back into sweatpants, a bag of potato chips balanced on his chest. He sits up when the door clicks shut behind Jongin, gripping the back of the couch to keep his balance.

"You heard everything," Jongin says.

"I didn't try to this time! It's just—"

"—thin walls. I know. It's okay." Jongin sighs and shakes his head. "I mean, no, it's _not_ okay. What am I supposed to do now?"

Chanyeol tips a handful of crumbs into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. "Do what he wants, I guess? What else is there to do?"

"You think?"

"You can't fix his wrist. You can't undo today." He crumples the empty bag onto the coffee table. "Just give him some time to cool down."

Jongin nods mutely, his face drawn. Chanyeol smiles, looking significantly more positive than Jongin feels.

"Don't worry. He just gets like this. I bet you anything tomorrow he'll be calling you and telling you to come over."

 

 

Baekhyun doesn't call the next day.

The director of the summer workshop does. He's even apologizing to Jongin, which just makes Jongin feel even worse about the situation. He glosses over the details but mentions a friend and an injury and explains that it was unavoidable. He promises it won't happen again. 

The director thanks him and tells him not to worry, and that he's excited to have Jongin on board, and then he's gone, leaving Jongin to wonder what _"it won't happen_ again" means: that Baekhyun won't hurt himself again, or Baekhyun won't be around anymore. 

He keeps wondering when Baekhyun doesn't call the next day, either.

On the third day, worried, but trying to be mindful of giving him the space he needs, Jongin sends a text. _are you okay?_

No response to that, either.

He spends a week on tenterhooks before he gathers the shards of his dignity and turns up at the apartment only to be greeted by an empty bedroom and an apologetic Chanyeol.

"He went home. He withdrew for the semester. I think his parents are taking him to see a specialist. Someone who deals specifically with musician and repetitive stress injuries. He didn't tell you? He said he would."

Jongin sends off a few more text messages: _u went home? without saying goodbye? :(_

A terse reply, a day and a half later, just as Jongin's beginning to give up: _don't be melodramatic. i'll be back._

Jongin types out another message: _i miss you._

He erases it.

He types it out again.

He erases it and puts his phone away.

♫♫♫

The next few weeks seem to slip away from Jongin. He throws himself into his classwork harder than he ever has before. Now that he's finished choreographing the routine for the spring gala, his time spent in the practice room doubles, so it's only when he stumbles into an unmade bed at two in the morning that he notices the radio silence on Baekhyun's end. It's conspicuous, though, when he rolls over into the cold half of the bed he'd relinquished to Baekhyun back in the fall and lies there, phone clenched in his hand, willing Baekhyun to call.

Sometimes Chanyeol texts at the end of a long week. They don't talk much—Jongin doesn't really know what to say, and Chanyeol's kind enough not to force Jongin into pretending he's interested in what the percussion studio's up to. He knows that's not what Jongin's after, anyway. He says something like _hi_ or _it's weird not seeing u every nite my aptmnt is so quiet??_ and then always: _hvnt heard anythg. u?_

And Jongin, always the same reply: _not today :\_

 

Baekhyun doesn't call Jongin. He doesn't call even when he finally returns to campus. He shows up, instead, and hangs around outside the dance studio until the second years come tumbling out in twos and threes, sweaty but fresh from movement class and ready for lunch.

Sehun catches sight of him first. He elbows Jongin and points to the department sign mounted in a bed of flowers, still green with the first stirrings of spring. There's Baekhyun, hovering anxiously, both fists shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans.

Jongin freezes and his heart leaps up into his throat. He's not sure if he's seeing things. It seems so familiar, like Baekhyun's been there every day this week, and the week before that. Like Baekhyun hasn't been gone for nearly two months.

Sehun looks at Jongin's face, then at Baekhyun's, and takes Taemin by the elbow, hip-checking Jongin as he passes by. "We'll see you later?" he mouths at Jongin, who nods mutely, his eyes fixated on Baekhyun's face. 

"Hi," Jongin manages, gruffly.

"Hi." Baekhyun waves, his smile just slightly too bright for his face. "Long time no see."

The joke falls flat between them. "Yeah. Long time. Seven weeks." Jongin sniffs, digging a toe into the crack in the sidewalk. "I figured after I texted—you didn't call, I didn't hear from you again, and—I don't know." He fidgets with the zipper on his jacket for something to do. 

"Yeah, I meant to call, I just—"

"It's okay, you didn't have to."

"No, I did. I just—after Chanyeol won the concerto competition—"

"He what?" Jongin frowns. "He did? Why didn't he tell me when I saw him?'

Baekhyun shrugs. "He's still feeling weird about it, I think. He knew how much I wanted it. It's not like his fault that—what happened, happened." He takes a moment and swallows, the words bitter on his tongue. "He's got an overdeveloped sense of guilt, and he's narcissistic enough to think that when everything goes wrong, it's his fault." His eyes gleam a little as he looks up at Jongin, a flicker of the old, carefree Baekhyun resurfacing. "Both of you are like that. So _annoying_."

Jongin wants to smile at this, but it's still too difficult. "I'm sorry," he says, and means it. Deeply.

"No, I am. I wanted to wait to talk to you until I wasn't mad at myself anymore. I guess it took a lot longer than I'd expected. Especially after the revolving door of doctors I've seen over the past few weeks... it kept opening the wound." He runs a hand through his hair. "It wasn't anything to do with you, but I'm sorry I punished you for it anyway. I was just feeling so spiteful and jealous towards Chanyeol, and then we had that fight... I was just. Upset."

"Upset?"

"Yeah. Upset. I don't like it when someone else is right and I'm not." He smiles, genuinely this time.

"Did you congratulate Chanyeol, at least?"

"Of course. He let me punch him." Baekhyun beams. Jongin has to laugh at the way his cheeks rise into that same old smile of his. "That made me feel a little better."

"He's a good friend," Jongin says softly, his face sobering. "He wanted you to win it."

"So are you, though." Baekhyun reaches out and slips his fingers through the spaces in-between Jongin's. "I'm really sorry."

Jongin pushes his thumb into Baekhyun's palm and traces a warm circle right across his lifeline. "I know you are."

"I'll make it up to you."

"I know," Jongin says. "You're paying this time."

♫♫♫

They return to their old spot at the coffee shop, the same chairs they always sit in. The same chair Baekhyun'd been nestled in that first day, except now it's Jongin sinking back into its cushions. It still doesn't feel entirely comfortable to Jongin, who adjusts his position six or seven times trying to seem casual before Baekhyun returns with a couple of iced drinks, the plastic cups damp with condensation. As Jongin reaches out to accept one, his eyes are drawn to Baekhyun's hiked sleeves. A smaller bandage has replaced the splint, black this time, elastic.

Baekhyun follows his gaze and chuckles. "It's fine," he says, like he just knows Jongin's wondering. "It's doing a lot better. Thanks."

"Good." Jongin fiddles with his straw wrapper, nodding just a few too many times for it to be natural. "So. You're back."

"For now." There's a catch in Baekhyun's voice.

"Chanyeol said something about withdrawal? Are you—is that just for the semester?"

Irritation flashes across Baekhyun's face like a lightning storm, hot and twisted. "Of course he did."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—I just didn't know what was—"

Baekhyun softens. He's still angry, Jongin can tell—not at him, specifically. It's that same anger he's been carrying since the first time they met. He rubs at his forehead and flashes a tight smile at Jongin. "Yeah, I don't know. We'll see. I said it—I said a lot of things in that conversation with him. I mean, what's the point, though?"

"Point of what?" 

"Having a degree in performance. When I can't play anymore, I mean."

Jongin sits forward in his seat. "It's not over yet. You haven't even finished physical therapy. And what about teaching?"

Baekhyun shrugs. "Teaching's... not what I want to do. Maybe I'd be better off saving my money and going back home instead."

"You're not going to finish? You're so close."

Another shrug. "Nothing's for sure. I'm just thinking about it. It's an option."

"That's not like you," Jongin murmurs, nauseated at the thought. "You'd never give up the piano. It's a part of you."

"Not so much anymore these days." Baekhyun smiles wryly. "I still haven't played, by the way. Since the competition."

"I wasn't going to ask you that," Jongin says quietly, staring at his hands. "It's—it's none of my business what you do." He hears Baekhyun's voice in his head when he says that—echoes of their fight. Unexpectedly, it stings more than he thought it would.

"You wanted to. I know you."

Jongin sighs. "Yeah. Of course I did. But—"

"It's okay." Baekhyun reaches out and touches Jongin's elbow. "I told you. Don't worry about me. I'll handle it. I always do." He sits back in his chair, contemplative. "Hey. What are you doing tonight?"

"The usual. Rehearsing until I want to fall asleep on the mats."

"Skip it."

"You have changed." Jongin laughs. "Since when do you encourage people to play hooky from practicing?"

"Since I needed a date for the orchestra concert tonight." Baekhyun sticks out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. "Come on, Jongin. I'm going to need someone to stop me from throwing things onstage while Chanyeol's performing. Nobody else can handle me."

"That's tonight? You'd never do that."

"I've changed, remember? I'm a madman, you don't know what I'd do," Baekhyun says seriously, crossing his feet at the ankles. "It could have been a great concert. Instead, it's going to be an evening of marimba music. Hitting wood with sticks. Because that's what gets people excited about classical music."

"And piano concertos do?"

"C'mon. I convinced Chanyeol to give me his comp tickets and make his parents pay for their seats instead."

"Wow. Way to milk that guilt of his, you asshole."

Baekhyun winks, wide and cheesy. "I'm just testing the waters by asking for little things first. The ultimate goal is going to be one of his kidneys. You know. Just to have."

Jongin bursts out laughing. "You're terrible."

"I know. It's an art." Baekhyun smiles. "How's that choreography project of yours coming along?"

"We had a rehearsal with Uhm the other day. He says it's shaping up nicely. Nobody's had any complaints and we've only had to make a couple adjustments. I don't know. It's a learning process."

Baekhyun takes his drink straw between his teeth and hums thoughtfully. "But at least you're having fun?"

"Honestly, I'll be glad when it's over," Jongin confesses. It feels good to say it out loud. He feels so ungrateful voicing it in front of Sehun, but he's just so stressed out, and he's not even sure his hard work is going to pay off, after everything. "I know I'm supposed to love this, but it's scaring the hell out of me. It's a lot of work. And I just don't feel like I'm ready for this kind of responsibility."

"Clearly you are, or you would have given up a long time ago," Baekhyun points out.

Jongin thinks about it for a moment, his cheeks coloring with pleasure. "I guess."

"I need two tickets for that, by the way. Chanyeol's going to come with me."

"Oh, no. No, you're not."

"Of course we are!" Baekhyun waves his hand flippantly, an impish smile curling his lips. "We're going to be right there in the front row as your cheering section. We're even going to make posters. I think Chanyeol's got some noisemakers, too."

Jongin rolls his eyes. "I'm giving the venue your pictures with explicit instructions to keep you out. You guys are going to be nothing but trouble, I can feel it. You know you're not actually allowed to heckle people during live performances, right? Like, that's not a thing that civilized people do?"

"There are ways around that." Baekhyun grins, tentative fingers skimming up Jongin's thigh to test the waters between them. "Hey. I wouldn't miss your big debut for anything. Don't even think about trying to keep me away."

"Alright then," Jongin says, holding Baekhyun's hand firmly against his knee in an implicit invitation to keep it there. "I won't."

♫♫♫

The tickets Chanyeol gives to Baekhyun prove to be excellent seats—third and forth seats left of center, seven rows back from the stage. Just far enough away to avoid the uncomfortable neck cramps that come with craning backwards to look at the performers, but close enough to make out everyone's faces. Jongin's got no idea what to wear to something like this and ends up settling on his best sweater pulled over a button-up.

He sits rigidly through the first half of the program, bumping elbows uncomfortably with the strange on the other side of him when he angles himself towards Baekhyun to trace idle spirals into Baekhyun's palm with his index finger. Baekhyun fights off a smile and whispers at Jongin to cut it out, but keeps his hand open, waiting.

After intermission, Baekhyun's a little more serious. He catches at Jongin's hand and holds it tightly as a tuxedo-clad Chanyeol strolls out onstage and bows a few times—first to the conductor, then to the orchestra, and then finally out at the audience. He stands and the stage lights catch his face—radiant and smiling, his hair neatly coiffed up and off his forehead for once.

Jongin chuckles when he sees him. "Did you talk him into doing that?"

"Yeah. I showed him a few pictures of sheepdogs and Cousin It and suddenly he was all for the idea."

"You're shameless."

"Hey. It's not like he doesn't know when he's being manipulated by me. He just doesn't care all that much." He puts a finger to his lips as Chanyeol raises his mallets and gives a tiny nod to the ensemble behind him.

Jongin's breath catches in his throat as the conductor gives the downbeat. Music explodes from the marimba onstage. He's never seen anything like Chanyeol—he's never considered the marimba a virtuosic instrument, but here's Chanyeol proving him wrong: two mallets in each hand, tip of his tongue poking between his lips in concentration as he rolls chords and rips through chromatic runs at breakneck speed. His hands are moving faster than Jongin's eyes can follow.

"Holy shit, how does he do that?" Jongin explodes the minute the piece finishes, Chanyeol's hand artfully flourishing over the last few notes. The theatre erupts into raucous, enthusiastic applause. There's more than a few people whistling, including Baekhyun, who looks ready to burst with pride. He's not alone—nearly every person in the audience is on their feet, cheering for an out-of-breath Chanyeol who bobs up and down a few times, bowing, gesturing graciously behind him at the orchestra before he lopes offstage.

It's hard for Jongin to reconcile his mental image of Chanyeol—sprawled across the couch, feeding junk food into his mouth (and missing his target nearly as many times as not)—with this poised musician who just earned a standing ovation from a packed house. Eventually, the applause starts to weaken, and the lights flicker on in the house. The concert's over.

"I know, right? He's good. He's really good." Baekhyun gathers his jacket into his arms and looks up at Jongin, who feels like his face is still frozen with shock. "I give him a lot of shit, but really, I respect the hell out of him. He doesn't take the classes seriously, but his playing? I defy you to bring me someone better."

"Have you ever told him that?"

"He knows." Baekhyun shrugs, twisting his body slightly to maneuver between two patrons blocking the aisle. "Besides, if I ever said anything that nice to him seriously, he'd think I was fucking with him. Or dying. Maybe both."

The crowd gathering backstage to greet the musicians swells beyond the stage doors, well-wishers spilling into the backstage hallway as they wait to congratulate the student musicians that filter past on their way to the green room to pack up their things.

Chanyeol's there in the corner, breathless and towering over most of the crowd, his arms full of flowers. His hair's started to wilt and is sticking to his sweaty forehead, but he still looks handsome. His face splits into an even wider smile when he spies Baekhyun and Jongin in the sea of faces and beckons for them to come closer with his mallets. 

Jongin works his way through the crush of bodies first and lets Chanyeol hug him. "I didn't think he'd come." Chanyeol bends his knees so he can properly speak into Jongin's ear. "It's a good sign. He's going to stay."

Jongin stands back and raises an eyebrow at him. _What about his wrist,_ he doesn't say, but Chanyeol understands. He smiles encouragingly.

"People have recovered from worse and gone on to fame and fortune. He can't give this up, he loves it too much."

"What are we talking about?" Baekhyun asks, sliding his hand against the small of Jongin's back. "You took a huge shit over that cadenza, by the way."

Chanyeol barks with laughter. "I fucking _knew_ the minute I flubbed that first triplet that you'd have something to say about it."

"Maybe you should have practiced a little harder. I'm just saying," Baekhyun teases, but the hug he pushes into Chanyeol's chest is friendly and warm. "Nice job, man. It sounded really great. Even Jongin thought so."

"See you back at the apartment later?" Chanyeol's gaze volleys back and forth between Baekhyun and Jongin expectantly. "Dinner, video games, maybe some beer?" 

Baekhyun nods. "I'll be there." He ventures a small smile in Jongin's direction. "How about you? You practicing tonight, or do you want to come by, instead?"

Warmth explodes through Jongin's veins, a comfortable familiarity settling itself between their palms as Jongin's hand finds Baekhyun's. He squeezes: _yes_.

♫♫♫

Chanyeol brings it up a few days later at breakfast. Baekhyun's still here, hanging around in his old room, waiting for Jongin to finish with classes. "Stop living out of a suitcase. Hang up your shit and stay a while. The rent's paid." He looks to Jongin, who's trying to hold Baekhyun's hand under the table. "Back me up, here. You want him to stay too, don't you?"

Baekhyun resists the conversation, feigning interest in his breakfast and ignoring the conversation until Chanyeol relents.

"We know you can't stay away too long," Chanyeol says, winking at Jongin. 

Jongin isn't sure if he should be discouraged by Baekhyun's unwillingness to participate in the conversation. He tries to get Baekhyun to talk a few times when it's just them, lying in bed as a pile of sprawled limbs, his mouth worrying at Baekhyun's earlobe.

"You should stay," Jongin whispers.

Baekhyun shuts him down every time with a hard kiss and wandering hands that push Jongin's thighs apart. It's hard to concentrate on much of anything after that.

♫♫♫

"You know to turn away from the audience if you're going to puke, right?" Baekhyun says, his long fingers making quick work of the last of Jongin's shirt buttons. "Because that'd be really embarrassing."

"Shut up," Jongin groans. "You're the worst at this."

"Just trying to be helpful."

They're backstage. After months of preparation, Jongin's having a hard time believing his recital is actually upon them. Baekhyun's here— _still_ here—he's been staying on campus even though he's not registered for anything. He says being home drove him crazy but Jongin also knows that Baekhyun seems to be in a better mood when they're jostling for space in his tiny bed, so. There's that.

The green room bustles with people—dancers, stylists, supportive friends. Jongin's overstimulated by the frenetic atmosphere and the performance looming over his head, so he paces nervously, wringing his hands. "I can't feel my face. That's how nervous I am."

"That's a step up from wanting to vomit. You're getting used to this. Just don't pass out. That'd be embarrassing, too."

"Noted." Jongin rolls his eyes, mopping perspiration from his forehead with a neatly folded tissue. "Thanks for the encouragement. I'm _really_ feeling good about this now."

"Hey." Something in Baekhyun's voice changes. "Come here." He wraps his arms around Jongin's neck, corralling him into standing still long enough to nuzzle his cheek. "Just. I'm really proud of you," he murmurs. His lips brush against the shell of Jongin's ear as he speaks.

"Oh, god. Stop that." Jongin rears away. His laughter comes out sounding more like a strangled, choking sob. 

"What?" Baekhyun follows Jongin's movement with outstretched hands. "I _am_."

Jongin shakes his head. "No, no, don't. You're freaking me out."

"Your makeup's going to run if you cry." Baekhyun swipes his thumbnail against Jongin's cheekbone and inspects it for a moment before he stands back, satisfied. "There. Now quit it."

"Leave me alone." Jongin gives Baekhyun a half-hearted shove, but doesn't try it again when Baekhyun rebounds back immediately, a hand on Jongin's waist.

"In a minute. We've still got some time." He draws a deep breath, and the laughter in his face softens into a calm sort of seriousness. He almost seems— _worried_ , but Baekhyun doesn't worry. 

"You okay?" Jongin asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm." Baekhyun meets Jongin's eyes. "Just wanted to let you know that I'm really looking forward to being on campus with you this fall."

Jongin lets out an ear-splitting whoop of delight, startling a few of the other dancers in the green room. He doesn't even care that all eyes are on him, not when Baekhyun's beaming at him, a pleased smile stretched from ear to ear.

"You're going to do it? You're going to stay and finish?"

"Might as well." Baekhyun tries to sound casual, but there's that glimmer in his eyes betraying his excitement. "I'll have to take a second shot at the concerto competition and grad school auditions."

"That's great, that's—really, really great. I'm glad."

"Maybe I can actually get some practicing done while you're gone this summer," Baekhyun teases.

A fresh pang of anxiety sweeps through Jongin at the word _practice_. "Practice? So soon?"

Baekhyun nods. "I was given the green light to start again. Slowly. Like, ten minutes a day to start."

Jongin lets his hands come to rest on Baekhyun's shoulders. "Don't be a dick and stretch that into an hour just to prove that you can."

"I won't."

"Yes you will, I know you."

"I _won't_. I promise. I'm taking it seriously this time." Baekhyun smiles slyly. "I was also thinking about doing some accompanying for the dance school classes. You know. Just to try something different." _Just to look at your ass,_ he doesn't need to say.

Jongin snickers. "I thought that was beneath you."

"Yeah. Well." Baekhyun looks embarrassed. "It turns out I don't exactly mind slumming it with guys in tights."

"Watch it! You're outnumbered right now." Jongin elbows him.

"I think I can take you guys. Sehun's a twig, and—"

"Hey, Jongin, you think you can tear yourself away from your boyfriend long enough to do this?" Sehun appears as though summoned, his white-blond hair slicked back. Either he didn't hear what Baekhyun was plotting, or he didn't much care.

"I should go find my seat." Baekhyun's grip on Jongin's hand lingers for a moment. "Break a leg, Baryshnikov."

"Yeah, I should be so lucky. We'd be a matching set of gimps, then."

Baekhyun chuckles and waves a braced wrist in their direction. "See you after the show?"

"Yeah. After." Jongin watches Baekhyun's retreating back until he disappears down the corridor. He's trying not to smile like an idiot but he knows he probably is, anyway.

Sehun tugs at his arm. "He's going to come out with us, right? Or do you guys have other plans?"

"You really think he wants to come out with us? He's heard the stories. He knows what we're like."

"I think he'll have a good time."

"I think you'll traumatize him."

"Jongin!" Uhm's voice barks from the hallway. "Places."

"Thank you!" he calls, looking back at Sehun, who's leering at him like a madman. "We'll discuss this later."

He doesn't have time to think about it too carefully then—too busy calling places and wiping his sweaty palms against his shirt. He breathes and counts backwards from ten, slowly, to steady his nerves. He can hear the audience murmuring on the other side of the curtain—was that Chanyeol's booming laugh? Oh, god, what is Baekhyun up to now?—and then suddenly all the hours he'd spent in the studio vaporize, and he's left with this:

The curtain rises.

♫♫♫

It's later—after Jongin accepts the huge bouquet of flowers his mother presses into his hands, smiling as he tugs a reluctant Baekhyun over to say hello. She glances back and forth between them curiously but doesn't ask even as she notices Jongin's hand coming to rest between Baekhyun's shoulder blades.

"Baekhyun's the best pianist at this school," Jongin tells her, filled to bursting with pride. Baekhyun turns eight different shades of red, coughing as he vehemently denies anything of the sort.

It's after Sehun hip-checks him and grins—"He's coming, right? Everybody's coming." He directs his sweet smile at Baekhyun, eyebrows lifting. "You have to come." And Baekhyun agrees readily, no wheedling necessary. He even seems to have a good time, chatting with Sehun all night about Stravinsky and (funnily enough) Baryshnikov. Jongin stays by his side the whole time, their fingers laced and a drink in his spare hand. Even though Baekhyun's a social creature and doesn't need Jongin as any sort of buffer, it's a warm sort of comfort for him to listen to Baekhyun adapt seamlessly to his world.

It's after he's had a few drinks—he pulls Baekhyun's knuckles up against his mouth to kiss them, then breaks into a wide laugh at something Taemin's doing (a spot-on impression of Sehun, maybe). Baekhyun doesn't miss a beat in his conversation to lean in and intercept Jongin's drink, taking a long pull of it, nodding in all the right places as Sehun rambles on about his concept for _his_ eventual choreography project, something about The Carnival of the Animals and hip-hop that has Jongin cringing a little.

It's then, looking at the irrepressible grin on Baekhyun's face, that he finally realizes what's important to him, and why.

He thinks about the punishment Baekhyun'd inflicted on himself and his body in the name of following his passion. He thinks about the curiosity that had led him to dance in the first place, and the drive that kept him working at it, about the long hours he's put in—not, he finally understands, to impress anyone, but because he loves it, and anything he loves deserves his best effort. It's painful, it's frustrating, it's terrifying and wonderful, all at once.

Baekhyun interrupts his thoughts then, squeezing his hand, offering him a small smile that goes unnoticed by the throng of friends around them. Jongin thinks, _relentless_ , and for once, it doesn't feel like a burden. It feels like a promise.

♫♫♫


End file.
